Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt SCENE II. A street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant CAPULET But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO For what, I pray thee? ROMEO For your broken shin. BENVOLIO Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO Stay, fellow; I can read. Reads 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET JULIET How now! who calls? Nurse Your mother. JULIET Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days. Nurse Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO Strike, drum. Exeunt SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant Ay, boy, ready. First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Exit ROMEO [To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET You kiss by the book. Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO What is her mother? Nurse Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse I know not. JULIET Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO BENVOLIO Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JULIET appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO What shall I swear by? JULIET Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. Nurse calls within I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Exit, above ROMEO O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO So thrive my soul-- JULIET A thousand times good night! Exit, above ROMEO A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET Romeo! ROMEO My dear? JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO At the hour of nine. JULIET I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO I would I were thy bird. JULIET Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit above ROMEO Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO The what? MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO Pink for flower. MERCUTIO Right. ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse You say well. MERCUTIO Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO What hast thou found? MERCUTIO No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing 'lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO Go to; I say you shall. Nurse This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO Commend me to thy lady. Nurse Ay, a thousand times. Exit Romeo Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! Enter Nurse and PETER O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A public place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants BENVOLIO I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO And what to? MERCUTIO Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others TYBALT Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT I am for you. Drawing ROMEO Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO Come, sir, your passado. They fight ROMEO Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers MERCUTIO I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. Exit Page ROMEO Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO ROMEO This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! Re-enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Re-enter TYBALT Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO This shall determine that. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others PRINCE Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Enter Nurse, with cords Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down JULIET Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET Can heaven be so envious? Nurse Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Knocking within FRIAR LAURENCE Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Knocking FRIAR LAURENCE Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Knocking Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCE Welcome, then. Enter Nurse Nurse O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO Nurse! Nurse Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Drawing his sword FRIAR LAURENCE Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit ROMEO How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. He goeth down JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIET Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET What villain madam? LADY CAPULET That same villain, Romeo. JULIET [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULET That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse I speak no treason. CAPULET O, God ye god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit JULIET Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit ACT IV SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS FRIAR LAURENCE On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET PARIS Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE That's a certain text. PARIS Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Exeunt SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second Servant Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET Go, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Enter JULIET CAPULET How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. Exeunt JULIET and Nurse LADY CAPULET We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. Exeunt SCENE III. Juliet's chamber. Enter JULIET and Nurse JULIET Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse JULIET Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. Laying down her dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter CAPULET CAPULET Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. Exit CAPULET Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Music within Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Re-enter Nurse Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Exeunt SCENE V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What noise is here? Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET What is the matter? Nurse Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. Enter CAPULET CAPULET For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET O woful time! CAPULET Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter PETER PETER Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER You will not, then? First Musician No. PETER I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. Exeunt SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR JOHN FRIAR JOHN Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Exit SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch PARIS Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. Retires PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The Page whistles The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. Retires Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c ROMEO Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! They fight PAGE O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. Exit PARIS O, I am slain! Falls If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. Dies ROMEO In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! Drinks O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Dies Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo! Advances Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Enters the tomb Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET wakes JULIET O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? Noise within FRIAR LAURENCE I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, Noise again I dare no longer stay. JULIET Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Kisses him Thy lips are warm. First Watchman [Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIET Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! Snatching ROMEO's dagger This is thy sheath; Stabs herself there rust, and let me die. Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS PAGE This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR Second Watchman Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE Third Watchman Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman A great suspicion: stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants PRINCE What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others CAPULET What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra Shakespeare homepage | Antony and Cleopatra | Entire play 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 glow'd 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, 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. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome. MARK 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.' MARK 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! MARK 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; when such a mutual pair Embracing 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. MARK ANTONY But stirr'd 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. MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing 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 To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Another room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the 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. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony. CHARMIAN Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOPATRA CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord? DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam? CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches. CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us. Exeunt Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius? Messenger Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. MARK ANTONY Well, what worst? Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller. MARK 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 flatter'd. 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-- MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,-- Messenger O, my lord! MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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 MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one? Second Attendant He stays upon your will. MARK ANTONY Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger What are you? Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead. MARK ANTONY Where died she? Second Messenger In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. Gives a letter MARK ANTONY Forbear me. Exit Second Messenger There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt 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! Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's your pleasure, sir? MARK ANTONY I must with haste from hence. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY I must be gone. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY She is cunning past man's thought. Exit ALEXAS DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Would I had never seen her. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Sir? MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Fulvia! MARK ANTONY Dead. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I shall do't. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Another room. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS 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 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 MARK ANTONY CLEOPATRA I am sick and sullen. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Now, my dearest queen,-- CLEOPATRA Pray you, stand further from me. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The gods best know,-- CLEOPATRA O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd! yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. MARK 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! MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar. MARK ANTONY How now, lady! CLEOPATRA I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. MARK 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 condemn'd 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? MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war As thou affect'st. CLEOPATRA Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well, So Antony loves. MARK 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 Life perfect honour. MARK ANTONY You'll heat my blood: no more. CLEOPATRA You can do better yet; but this is meetly. MARK 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. MARK 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. MARK 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 strew'd before your feet! MARK ANTONY Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away! Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, and their Train OCTAVIUS 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 man-like 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 enow 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he which is was wish'd until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not. LEPIDUS 'Tis pity of him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. LEPIDUS To-morrow, Caesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest? 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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR 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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. CLEOPATRA What, was he sad or merry? ALEXAS Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness! 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 further travel. POMPEY I could have given less matter A better ear. Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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. The house of LEPIDUS. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS LEPIDUS Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. DOMITIUS 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 to-day. LEPIDUS 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in't. LEPIDUS But small to greater matters must give way. DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And yonder, Caesar. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA MARK ANTONY If we compose well here, to Parthia: Hark, Ventidius. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I do not know, Mecaenas; 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 the matter. MARK ANTONY 'Tis spoken well. Were we before our armies, and to fight. I should do thus. Flourish OCTAVIUS CAESAR Welcome to Rome. MARK ANTONY Thank you. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Sit. MARK ANTONY Sit, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, then. MARK ANTONY I learn, you take things ill which are not so, Or being, concern you not. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing or a little, I Should say myself offended, and with you Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. MARK ANTONY My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY How intend you, practised? OCTAVIUS CAESAR You may be pleased to catch at mine intent By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Sir, He fell upon me ere admitted: then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. LEPIDUS Soft, Caesar! MARK ANTONY No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. OCTAVIUS CAESAR To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. MARK ANTONY Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd 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. MECAENAS 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, Mecaenas. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. MARK ANTONY You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Go to, then; your considerate stone. OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. AGRIPPA Give me leave, Caesar,-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR Speak, Agrippa. AGRIPPA Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Will Caesar speak? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. MARK ANTONY What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' To make this good? OCTAVIUS CAESAR The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. MARK 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR There is 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! MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Where lies he? OCTAVIUS CAESAR About the mount Misenum. MARK ANTONY What is his strength by land? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Great and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. MARK 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 talk'd of. OCTAVIUS CAESAR With most gladness: And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I'll lead you. MARK ANTONY Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. LEPIDUS Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, and LEPIDUS MECAENAS Welcome from Egypt, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! AGRIPPA Good Enobarbus! MECAENAS We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. MECAENAS Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is this true? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. MECAENAS She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. AGRIPPA O, rare for Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. AGRIPPA Rare Egyptian! DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd. DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth. MECAENAS Now Antony must leave her utterly. DOMITIUS 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. MECAENAS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them, and Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady. Good night, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Good night. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA Enter Soothsayer MARK ANTONY Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt? Soothsayer Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! MARK 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. MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore Make space enough between you. MARK 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. MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, I' the 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. The same. A street. Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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. MECAENAS 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. MECAENAS AGRIPPA Sir, good success! LEPIDUS Farewell. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attendants The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN 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 play'd As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? MARDIAN As well as I can, madam. CLEOPATRA And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd 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 a Messenger O, from Italy Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Messenger Madam, madam,-- CLEOPATRA Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Messenger First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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 Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence, Strikes him again 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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering 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. Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger 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. Bid you Alexas To MARDIAN 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, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS, with Soldiers marching POMPEY Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most meet That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Take your time. MARK 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'er-count thee. POMPEY At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR There's the point. MARK ANTONY Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embraced. OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targes undinted. OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY 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. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; For I have gain'd by 't. OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us. OCTAVIUS CAESAR That's the next to do. POMPEY We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's Draw lots who shall begin. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY You have heard much. POMPEY I have fair meanings, sir. MARK ANTONY And fair words to them. POMPEY Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-- DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No more of that: he did so. POMPEY What, I pray you? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. POMPEY I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier? DOMITIUS 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 behavior. DOMITIUS 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY LEPIDUS Show us the way, sir. POMPEY Come. Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS MENAS [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS At sea, I think. MENAS We have, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS You have done well by water. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But there is never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS No slander; they steal hearts. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again. MENAS You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar's sister is called Octavia. MENAS True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS Pray ye, sir? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Tis true. MENAS Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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? DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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, off Misenum. Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink. First Servant But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. Second Servant Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains MARK ANTONY [To OCTAVIUS CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know, By the 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. MARK ANTONY Ay, Lepidus. LEPIDUS Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. MARK 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. DOMITIUS 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 [Aside to POMPEY] 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? MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. LEPIDUS What colour is it of? MARK ANTONY Of it own colour too. LEPIDUS 'Tis a strange serpent. MARK ANTONY 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Will this description satisfy him? MARK 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 call'd 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. The matter? Rises, and walks aside 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. MARK ANTONY These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. MENAS Wilt thou be lord of all the world? POMPEY What say'st thou? MENAS Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY How should that be? MENAS But entertain it, And, though thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. POMPEY Hast thou drunk well? MENAS Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove: Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine. POMPEY Ah, this thou shouldst have done, And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany; 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 pall'd fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. POMPEY This health to Lepidus! MARK ANTONY Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Here's to thee, Menas! MENAS Enobarbus, welcome! POMPEY Fill till the cup be hid. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS There's a strong fellow, Menas. Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS MENAS Why? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all, That it might go on wheels! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Drink thou; increase the reels. MENAS Come. POMPEY This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. MARK ANTONY It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho? Here is to Caesar! OCTAVIUS CAESAR I could well forbear't. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. MARK ANTONY Be a child o' the time. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Possess it, I'll make answer: But I had rather fast from all four days Than drink so much in one. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ha, my brave emperor! To MARK ANTONY Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? POMPEY Let's ha't, good soldier. MARK ANTONY Come, let's all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand THE SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round! OCTAVIUS 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 Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY I'll try you on the shore. MARK 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS 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 hang'd, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ho! says a' There's my cap. MENAS Ho! 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 the minute, lost his favour. Who does i' the 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' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS at another AGRIPPA What, are the brothers parted? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness. AGRIPPA 'Tis a noble Lepidus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar! AGRIPPA Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. AGRIPPA What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil! AGRIPPA O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further. AGRIPPA Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony: Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho! His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. AGRIPPA Both he loves. DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY No further, sir. OCTAVIUS 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 band 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 cherish'd. MARK ANTONY Make me not offended In your distrust. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have said. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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! MARK 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-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR What, Octavia? OCTAVIA I'll tell you in your ear. MARK 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 full of tide, And neither way inclines. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in 's face. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring; and he wept When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound he wail'd, Believe't, till I wept too. OCTAVIUS CAESAR No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Adieu; be happy! LEPIDUS Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Farewell, fa rewell! Kisses OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt SCENE III. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Where is the fellow? ALEXAS Half afeard to come. CLEOPATRA Go to, go to. Enter the 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 look'd 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 MARK ANTONY's house. Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA MARK 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 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. MARK 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 mean time, 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. MARK 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. The same. Another room. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How now, friend Eros! EROS There's strange news come, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What, man? EROS Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Our great navy's rigg'd. EROS For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Twill be naught: But let it be. Bring me to Antony. EROS Come, sir. Exeunt SCENE VI. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS OCTAVIUS CAESAR Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more, In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't: I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 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. MECAENAS This in the public eye? OCTAVIUS CAESAR I' the common show-place, where they exercise. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings: Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia. He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, As 'tis reported, so. MECAENAS Let Rome be thus Inform'd. AGRIPPA Who, queasy with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR The people know it; and have now received His accusations. AGRIPPA Who does he accuse? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Caesar: and that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him His part o' the 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 answer'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR 'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I Demand the like. MECAENAS He'll never yield to that. OCTAVIUS 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway! OCTAVIA You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. OCTAVIA Do not say so, my lord. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have eyes upon him, And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? OCTAVIA My lord, in Athens. OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; King Malchus 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 do afflict each other! OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. AGRIPPA Welcome, lady. MECAENAS Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you, Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister! Exeunt SCENE VII. Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp. Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS CLEOPATRA I will be even with thee, doubt it not. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But why, why, why? CLEOPATRA Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, And say'st it is not fit. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Well, is it, is it? CLEOPATRA If not denounced against us, why should not we Be there in person? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 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? DOMITIUS 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' the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will Appear there for a man. Speak not against it: I will not stay behind. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Nay, I have done. Here comes the emperor. Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK ANTONY For that he dares us to't. DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off; And so should you. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Your ships are not well mann'd; Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people Ingross'd 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. MARK ANTONY By sea, by sea. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth most consist Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, From firm security. MARK ANTONY I'll fight at sea. CLEOPATRA I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. MARK ANTONY Our overplus of shipping will we burn; And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium Beat the 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. MARK ANTONY Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange that 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 the Egyptians And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. MARK ANTONY Well, well: away! Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Soldier By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching OCTAVIUS CAESAR Taurus! TAURUS My lord? OCTAVIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 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 marcheth with his land army one way over the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer: The 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's thy passion! SCARUS The greater cantle of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How appears the fight? SCARUS On our side like the token'd pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,-- Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight, When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That I beheld: Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not Endure a further view. SCARUS She once being loof'd, 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. DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt SCENE XI. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS following 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! MARK ANTONY No, no, no, no, no. EROS See you here, sir? MARK ANTONY O fie, fie, fie! CHARMIAN Madam! IRAS Madam, O good empress! EROS Sir, sir,-- MARK 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 practise 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 him: O! EROS Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches: Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but Your comfort makes the rescue. MARK ANTONY I have offended reputation, A most unnoble swerving. EROS Sir, the queen. MARK 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 'Stroy'd in dishonour. CLEOPATRA O my lord, my lord, Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought You would have follow'd. MARK ANTONY Egypt, thou knew'st too well My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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! MARK 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' the world play'd 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! MARK 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. Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him appear that's come from Antony. Know you him? DOLABELLA Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion off his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by. Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Approach, and speak. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Be't so: declare thine office. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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. EUPHRONIUS Fortune pursue thee! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS To THYREUS 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, Thyreus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. THYREUS Caesar, I go. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. THYREUS Caesar, I shall. Exeunt SCENE XIII. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS CLEOPATRA What shall we do, Enobarbus? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Think, and die. CLEOPATRA Is Antony or we in fault for this? DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: 'twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. CLEOPATRA Prithee, peace. Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador MARK ANTONY Is that his answer? EUPHRONIUS Ay, my lord. MARK ANTONY The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up. EUPHRONIUS He says so. MARK 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? MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant Attendant A messenger from CAESAR. CLEOPATRA What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit Attendant DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i' the story. Enter THYREUS CLEOPATRA Caesar's will? THYREUS Hear it apart. CLEOPATRA None but friends: say boldly. THYREUS So, haply, are they friends to Antony. DOMITIUS 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. THYREUS So. Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Caesar. CLEOPATRA Go on: right royal. THYREUS He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. CLEOPATRA O! THYREUS 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 conquer'd merely. DOMITIUS 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 THYREUS 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 shrowd, The universal landlord. CLEOPATRA What's your name? THYREUS My name is Thyreus. CLEOPATRA Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering 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. THYREUS '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, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? THYREUS One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] You will be whipp'd. MARK 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 Attendants Take hence this Jack, and whip him. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. MARK 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. THYREUS Mark Antony! MARK ANTONY Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,-- MARK ANTONY You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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? MARK ANTONY I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd 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? MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him. Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS Is he whipp'd? First Attendant Soundly, my lord. MARK ANTONY Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? First Attendant He did ask favour. MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone! Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA Have you done yet? MARK ANTONY Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! CLEOPATRA I must stay his time. MARK ANTONY To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? CLEOPATRA Not know me yet? MARK 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! MARK ANTONY I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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! MARK ANTONY I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. MARK ANTONY We will yet do well. CLEOPATRA Call all his noble captains to my lord. MARK ANTONY Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter OCTAVIUS CAESAR He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp'd 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. MECAENAS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt SCENE II. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others MARK ANTONY He will not fight with me, Domitius. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No. MARK ANTONY Why should he not? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. MARK ANTONY To-morrow, 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? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' MARK ANTONY Well said; come on. Call forth my household servants: let's to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Enter three or four Servitors Give me thy hand, Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots Out of the mind. MARK ANTONY And thou art honest too. I wish I could be made so many men, And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony, that I might do you service So good as you have done. All The gods forbid! MARK ANTONY Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me As when mine empire was your fellow too, And suffer'd my command. CLEOPATRA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. MARK ANTONY Tend me to-night; May be it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 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 to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! DOMITIUS 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. MARK 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 to-morrow; 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. The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers to their guard First Soldier Brother, good night: to-morrow 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 Fourth Soldier Here we: and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. Third Soldier 'Tis a brave army, And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage Fourth Soldier Peace! what noise? First Soldier List, list! Second Soldier Hark! First Soldier Music i' the 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 [Speaking together] 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. The same. A room in the palace. Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and others attending MARK ANTONY Eros! mine armour, Eros! CLEOPATRA Sleep a little. MARK ANTONY No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter EROS with armour Come good fellow, put mine iron on: If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her: come. CLEOPATRA Nay, I'll help too. What's this for? MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou shouldst see A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier 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. Soldier A thousand, sir, Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish Enter Captains and Soldiers Captain The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. All Good morrow, general. MARK 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: rebukeable Kisses her And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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. Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp. Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a Soldier meeting them Soldier The gods make this a happy day to Antony! MARK ANTONY Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd 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 Follow'd thy heels. MARK 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.' MARK ANTONY What say'st thou? Soldier Sir, He is with Caesar. EROS Sir, his chests and treasure He has not with him. MARK ANTONY Is he gone? Soldier Most certain. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is Antony be took alive; Make it so known. AGRIPPA Caesar, I shall. Exit OCTAVIUS CAESAR The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger Messenger Antony Is come into the field. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains Caesar hath hang'd 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. DOMITIUS 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 DOMITIUS 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 MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Thou bleed'st apace. SCARUS I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY I will reward thee Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. SCARUS I'll halt after. Exeunt SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS, with others MARK ANTONY We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole. To SCARUS Give me thy hand Enter CLEOPATRA, attended To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee. To CLEOPATRA O thou day o' the world, Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? MARK ANTONY My 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 to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. CLEOPATRA I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. MARK ANTONY He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach. Exeunt SCENE IX. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Sentinels at their post First Soldier If we be not relieved within this hour, We must return to the court of guard: the night Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. Second Soldier This last day was A shrewd one to's. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS O, bear me witness, night,-- Third Soldier What man is this? Second Soldier Stand close, and list him. DOMITIUS 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! First Soldier Enobarbus! Third Soldier Peace! Hark further. DOMITIUS 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 Second Soldier Let's speak To him. First Soldier Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Third Soldier Let's do so. But he sleeps. First Soldier Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Second Soldier Go we to him. Third Soldier Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Second Soldier Hear you, sir? First Soldier The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Third Soldier Come on, then; He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body SCENE X. Between the two camps. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army MARK ANTONY Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. SCARUS For both, my lord. MARK ANTONY I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld 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 same. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army OCTAVIUS 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 same. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS MARK ANTONY Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers 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. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight Re-enter MARK ANTONY MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone. 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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, 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? MARK ANTONY Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well 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' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit SCENE XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd. CHARMIAN To the 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 the 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 the monument! Exeunt SCENE XIV. The same. Another room. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS MARK ANTONY Eros, thou yet behold'st me? EROS Ay, noble lord. MARK ANTONY Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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, MARK 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. MARK 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 annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword. MARDIAN No, Antony; My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely. MARK ANTONY Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! She hath betray'd 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 render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. MARK ANTONY Dead, then? MARDIAN Dead. MARK ANTONY Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. To MARDIAN That thou depart'st hence safe, Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit MARDIAN Off, pluck off: The seven-fold 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! Re-enter EROS EROS What would my lord? MARK ANTONY Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd 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 The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strikest 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? MARK ANTONY Eros, Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued? EROS I would not see't. MARK 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! MARK ANTONY When I did make thee free, sworest 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. MARK ANTONY Lo thee! Turning from him EROS My sword is drawn. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY 'Tis said, man; and farewell. EROS Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? MARK ANTONY Now, Eros. EROS Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Kills himself MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! Enter DERCETAS and Guard First Guard What's the noise? MARK ANTONY I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end Of what I have begun. Second Guard The star is fall'n. First Guard And time is at his period. All Alas, and woe! MARK ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead. First Guard Not I. Second Guard Nor I. Third Guard Nor any one. Exeunt Guard DERCETAS 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? DERCETAS There, Diomed there. DIOMEDES Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS MARK 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. MARK ANTONY When did she send thee? DIOMEDES Now, my lord. MARK ANTONY Where is she? DIOMEDES Lock'd 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. MARK 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 MARK ANTONY MARK 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! MARK 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 MARK ANTONY SCENE XV. The same. 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, Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument; His guard have brought him thither. Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard CLEOPATRA O sun, Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. MARK ANTONY Peace! Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. CLEOPATRA So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! MARK ANTONY I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay up thy lips. CLEOPATRA I dare not, dear,-- Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooch'd 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. MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,-- Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come; They heave MARK 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! MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence. MARK ANTONY One word, sweet queen: Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! CLEOPATRA They do not go together. MARK ANTONY Gentle, hear me: None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. CLEOPATRA My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Caesar. MARK 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' the world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. 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, MARK ANTONY dies The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body ACT V SCENE I. Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest Appear thus to us? DERCETAS I am call'd Dercetas; 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR What is't thou say'st? DERCETAS I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. OCTAVIUS 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. DERCETAS 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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. OCTAVIUS 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. MECAENAS 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 touch'd. MECAENAS When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O Antony! I have follow'd 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-- But I will tell you at some meeter season: Enter an Egyptian 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. OCTAVIUS 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 live To be ungentle. Egyptian So the gods preserve thee! Exit OCTAVIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius? All Dolabella! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employ'd: 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 dug, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS and Soldiers PROCULEIUS Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face. PROCULEIUS This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied Of him that caused it. GALLUS You see how easily she may be surprised: Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the monument by a ladder placed against a window, and, having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates To PROCULEIUS and the Guard Guard her till Caesar come. Exit 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 betray'd. CLEOPATRA What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? PROCULEIUS Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty by The 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 Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA If it might please ye,-- 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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above The element they lived in: in his livery Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As plates dropp'd from his pocket. DOLABELLA Cleopatra! CLEOPATRA Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? DOLABELLA Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were, one such, It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine And 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't. Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there: Octavius Caesar!' Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which is the Queen of Egypt? DOLABELLA It is the emperor, madam. CLEOPATRA kneels OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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' the 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. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted. Where's 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. CLEOPATRA See, Caesar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! 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! OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man, Thou wouldst have mercy on me. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Cleopatra, Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged, Put we i' the 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 cheer'd; 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not so. Adieu. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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. Re-enter DOLABELLA DOLABELLA Where is 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 perform'd 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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore. IRAS O the good gods! CLEOPATRA Nay, that's certain. IRAS I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. CLEOPATRA Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents. Re-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. Wherefore's this noise? Exit IRAS. A noise within Enter a Guardsman Guard 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. Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket Guard 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 Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. CLEOPATRA Get thee hence; farewell. Clown I wish you all joy of the worm. Setting down his 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 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' the worm. Exit Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; And golden Phoebus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in First Guard Where is 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! Dies Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar!' Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching DOLABELLA O sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bravest at the last, She levell'd 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Poison'd, 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 dropp'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O noble weakness! If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. OCTAVIUS 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 The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO BERNARDO Who's there? FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. BERNARDO Long live the king! FRANCISCO Bernardo? BERNARDO He. FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour. BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring. BERNARDO Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there? Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO Give you good night. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place. Give you good night. Exit MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo! BERNARDO Say, What, is Horatio there? HORATIO A piece of him. BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO Sit down awhile; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story What we have two nights seen. HORATIO Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. BERNARDO Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one,-- Enter Ghost MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO See, it stalks away! HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit Ghost MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer. BERNARDO 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 the 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, Dared 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 seized 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 covenant, 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 romage in the land. BERNARDO 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.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! Re-enter Ghost 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: Cock crows 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! Stop it, Marcellus. MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan? HORATIO Do, if it will not stand. BERNARDO 'Tis here! HORATIO 'Tis here! MARCELLUS 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. BERNARDO 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, The 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 dares 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 to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-- Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with the 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, Voltimand, 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 delated articles allow. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND In that and all things will we show our duty. KING CLAUDIUS We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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 My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation, Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. KING CLAUDIUS Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? LORD 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS '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 persever 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 to-day, '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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO 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 mine 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 pray thee, 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 baked 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 awhile 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 Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 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, distilled 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'd. HAMLET Did you not speak to it? HORATIO My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its 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 to-night? MARCELLUS BERNARDO We do, my lord. HAMLET Arm'd, say you? MARCELLUS BERNARDO Arm'd, my lord. HAMLET From top to toe? MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 amazed you. HAMLET Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? HORATIO While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again. HORATIO I warrant 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 to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All Our duty to your honour. HAMLET Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. Exeunt all but HAMLET My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Exit SCENE III. A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 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 disclosed, 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 the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. 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. LORD 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 thee! And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are 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 ownself 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. 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 LORD POLONIUS What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you? OPHELIA So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. LORD 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. LORD 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. LORD 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 importuned me with love In honourable fashion. LORD 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. LORD 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 somewhat 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. HAMLET No, it is struck. HORATIO Indeed? I heard it not: then it 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 to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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: But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-- Their 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 eale 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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath oped 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 I will follow it. HORATIO Do not, my lord. HAMLET Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life in 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 ruled; 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. Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 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. Another part of the platform. Enter GHOST and HAMLET HAMLET Where 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 sulphurous 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 confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAMLET O my prophetic soul! My 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 moved, 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 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, Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me. Exit HAMLET O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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. MARCELLUS HORATIO [Within] My lord, my lord,-- MARCELLUS [Within] Lord Hamlet,-- HORATIO [Within] Heaven secure him! HAMLET So be it! HORATIO [Within] Hillo, 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 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 has business and desire, Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night. HORATIO 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 [Beneath] Swear. HAMLET Ah, ha, boy! say'st 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' the 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 headshake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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! They swear So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to 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' house. Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO LORD POLONIUS Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. REYNALDO I will, my lord. LORD POLONIUS You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, Before you visit him, to make inquire Of his behavior. REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it. LORD POLONIUS Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire 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. 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. LORD POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing: you may go so far. REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonour him. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this? REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that. LORD POLONIUS Marry, sir, here's my drift; And I believe, it is a fetch of wit: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured 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. 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.' LORD POLONIUS At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry; He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say, There was a' 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. LORD POLONIUS God be wi' you; fare you well. REYNALDO Good my lord! LORD POLONIUS Observe his inclination in yourself. REYNALDO I shall, my lord. LORD POLONIUS And let him ply his music. REYNALDO Well, my lord. LORD POLONIUS Farewell! Exit REYNALDO Enter OPHELIA How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? OPHELIA O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! LORD POLONIUS With what, i' the name of God? OPHELIA My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 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. LORD POLONIUS Mad for thy love? OPHELIA My lord, I do not know; But truly, I do fear it. LORD 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 raised 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 helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. LORD 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 fetters and denied His access to me. LORD POLONIUS That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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 call it, Sith nor the 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 the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, being of so young days brought up with him, And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior, 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 GERTRUDE 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 But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. KING CLAUDIUS Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 practises Pleasant and helpful to him! QUEEN GERTRUDE Ay, amen! Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. KING CLAUDIUS Thou still hast been the father of good news. LORD POLONIUS Have I, my lord? I assure 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 used to do, that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. KING CLAUDIUS O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. LORD POLONIUS Give first admittance to the ambassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. KING CLAUDIUS Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. Exit POLONIUS He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. QUEEN GERTRUDE I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. KING CLAUDIUS Well, we shall sift him. Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS Welcome, my good friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? VOLTIMAND 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 grieved, 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 the 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, Giving 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 CLAUDIUS It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS LORD 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 GERTRUDE More matter, with less art. LORD 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 while 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. Thus: Reads 'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.' QUEEN GERTRUDE Came this from Hamlet to her? LORD 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 shown me, And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means and place, All given to mine ear. KING CLAUDIUS But how hath she Received his love? LORD POLONIUS What do you think of me? KING CLAUDIUS As of a man faithful and honourable. LORD POLONIUS I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing-- As I perceived 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 mourn for. KING CLAUDIUS Do you think 'tis this? QUEEN GERTRUDE It may be, very likely. LORD POLONIUS Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that-- That I have positively said 'Tis so,' When it proved otherwise? KING CLAUDIUS Not that I know. LORD POLONIUS [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise: If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. KING CLAUDIUS How may we try it further? LORD POLONIUS You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby. QUEEN GERTRUDE So he does indeed. LORD 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 CLAUDIUS We will try it. QUEEN GERTRUDE But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. LORD POLONIUS Away, I do beseech you, both away: I'll board him presently. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants Enter HAMLET, reading O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet? HAMLET Well, God-a-mercy. LORD POLONIUS Do you know me, my lord? HAMLET Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. LORD POLONIUS Not I, my lord. HAMLET Then I would you were so honest a man. LORD POLONIUS Honest, my lord! HAMLET Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. LORD POLONIUS That's very true, my lord. HAMLET For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? LORD POLONIUS I have, my lord. HAMLET Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't. LORD POLONIUS [Aside] How say you by that? 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. LORD POLONIUS What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET Between who? LORD POLONIUS I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. LORD 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. LORD 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 any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life. LORD POLONIUS Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET These tedious old fools! Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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 outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. ROSENCRANTZ 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, any thing, 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 [Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 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 humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not. HAMLET How comes it? do they grow rusty? ROSENCRANTZ Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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 LORD 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: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS The actors are come hither, my lord. HAMLET Buz, buz! LORD POLONIUS Upon mine honour,-- HAMLET Then came each actor on his ass,-- LORD 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! LORD POLONIUS What a treasure had he, my lord? HAMLET Why, 'One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.' LORD POLONIUS [Aside] Still on my daughter. HAMLET Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? LORD POLONIUS If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. HAMLET Nay, that follows not. LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last: comest 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 apiece 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 any thing 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 judgments 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 indict 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 the 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, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damned light To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. LORD 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 The 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' the 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 forged 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!' LORD 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?' LORD POLONIUS That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. First Player 'Run barefoot up and down, threatening 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'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 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.' LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more. HAMLET 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert. HAMLET God's bodykins, 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. LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs. HAMLET Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Exit 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 to-morrow 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 My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord! HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi' ye; Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN 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 wann'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' the 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! O, 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 To 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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. LORD POLONIUS 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties To hear and see the matter. KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. 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 CLAUDIUS 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 behaved, If 't be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself. KING CLAUDIUS [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 burthen! LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised 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 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 composed 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 no where 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 has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 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; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed 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, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS KING CLAUDIUS 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? LORD 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 placed, 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 CLAUDIUS It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt SCENE II. A hall in the castle. Enter HAMLET and 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, the 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed 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 mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous, 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! I will the king hear this piece of work? LORD POLONIUS And the queen too, and that presently. HAMLET Bid the players make haste. Exit POLONIUS Will you two help to hasten them? ROSENCRANTZ 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 coped 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 blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 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 to-night 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 seest that act afoot, 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 judgments 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. HAMLET No, nor mine now. To POLONIUS My lord, you played once i' the university, you say? LORD POLONIUS That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. HAMLET What did you enact? LORD POLONIUS I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 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 GERTRUDE Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. HAMLET No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. LORD POLONIUS [To KING CLAUDIUS] 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 these 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.' Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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. Exit HAMLET Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? OPHELIA 'Tis brief, my lord. HAMLET As woman's love. Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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 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 GERTRUDE The lady protests too much, methinks. HAMLET O, but she'll keep her word. KING CLAUDIUS Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't? HAMLET No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world. KING CLAUDIUS What do you call the play? HAMLET The Mouse-trap. 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 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. Enter LUCIANUS This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in 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 GERTRUDE How fares my lord? LORD POLONIUS Give o'er the play. KING CLAUDIUS Give me some light: away! All Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO HAMLET Why, let the stricken 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, perdy. Come, some music! Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration. HAMLET O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. 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 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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb is something musty. Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you cannot play upon me. Enter POLONIUS God bless you, sir! LORD 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? LORD POLONIUS By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. LORD POLONIUS It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET Or like a whale? LORD POLONIUS Very like a whale. HAMLET Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. LORD POLONIUS I will say so. HAMLET By and by is easily said. Exit POLONIUS 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 soever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit SCENE III. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. KING CLAUDIUS Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN We will haste us. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS 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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged, 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 the 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 KING CLAUDIUS [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit SCENE IV. The Queen's closet. Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS LORD 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 sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him. HAMLET [Within] Mother, mother, mother! QUEEN GERTRUDE I'll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. POLONIUS hides behind the arras Enter HAMLET HAMLET Now, mother, what's the matter? QUEEN GERTRUDE Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. HAMLET Mother, you have my father much offended. QUEEN GERTRUDE Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. HAMLET Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. QUEEN GERTRUDE Why, how now, Hamlet! HAMLET What's the matter now? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! LORD POLONIUS [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! HAMLET [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Makes a pass through the arras LORD POLONIUS [Behind] O, I am slain! Falls and dies QUEEN GERTRUDE O me, what hast thou done? HAMLET Nay, I know not: Is it the king? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE As kill a king! HAMLET Ay, lady, 'twas my word. Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. QUEEN GERTRUDE What have I done, that thou darest 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 GERTRUDE 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 judgment: and what judgment 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 ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Alas, he's mad! HAMLET Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed 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 GERTRUDE 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 hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this? HAMLET Do you see nothing there? QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves. HAMLET Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Exit Ghost QUEEN GERTRUDE This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE 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 devil, 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 to-night, 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 [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, Pointing to POLONIUS I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE 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 engineer 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. Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS ACT IV SCENE I. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves: You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? QUEEN GERTRUDE Bestow this place on us a little while. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! KING CLAUDIUS What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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 every one. 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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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. 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: 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 CLAUDIUS, attended KING CLAUDIUS 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 loved of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where tis so, the 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 relieved, 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 CLAUDIUS But where is he? ROSENCRANTZ Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. KING CLAUDIUS Bring him before us. ROSENCRANTZ Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? HAMLET At supper. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Alas, alas! HAMLET A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. KING CLAUDIUS What dost you mean by this? HAMLET Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. KING CLAUDIUS Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 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 CLAUDIUS Go seek him there. To some Attendants HAMLET He will stay till ye come. Exeunt Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. HAMLET For England! KING CLAUDIUS Ay, Hamlet. HAMLET Good. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: Away! for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the 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 congruing 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, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised 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. PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go softly on. Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others HAMLET Good sir, whose powers are these? Captain They are of Norway, sir. HAMLET How purposed, sir, I pray you? Captain Against some part of Poland. HAMLET Who commands them, sir? Captain The nephews 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 the imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. All's Well That Ends Well Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? LAFEU A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM I heard not of it before. LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it. HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU How understand we that? COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES Aside One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES Save you, fair queen! HELENA And you, monarch! PAROLLES No. HELENA And no. PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES Keep him out. HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ] There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother and a mistress and a friend, A phoenix, captain and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning place, and he is one-- PAROLLES What one, i' faith? HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- PAROLLES What's pity? HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Return us thanks. Enter Page Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES Under Mars, I. HELENA I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES Why under Mars? HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES When he was predominant. HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES Why think you so? HELENA You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES That's for advantage. HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. Exit HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove So show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease--my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. Exit SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. First Lord So 'tis reported, sir. KING Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial. First Lord His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's. KING I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. Second Lord You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord. KING If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM Thank your majesty. Exeunt. Flourish SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown COUNTESS I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clown 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS Well, sir. Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clown I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason? Clown Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. COUNTESS What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. COUNTESS You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS Well, now. Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Exit Steward Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. HELENA What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother: Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? HELENA That I am not. COUNTESS I say, I am your mother. HELENA Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. HELENA Good madam, pardon me! COUNTESS Do you love my son? HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress! COUNTESS Love you my son? HELENA Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- To go to Paris? HELENA Madam, I had. COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true. HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNTESS This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak. HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? HELENA There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour. COUNTESS Dost thou believe't? HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,--see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both Our hearts receive your warnings. KING Farewell. Come hither to me. Exit, attended First Lord O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars. BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' PAROLLES An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. First Lord There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES Commit it, count. Second Lord I am your accessary; and so, farewell. BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. First Lord Farewell, captain. Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. First Lord We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords PAROLLES Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? BERTRAM Stay: the king. Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM And I will do so. PAROLLES Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? KING No. LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, And write to her a love-line. KING What 'her' is this? LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA LAFEU Nay, come your ways. KING This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU Nay, come your ways: This is his majesty; say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. Exit KING Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found. KING I knew him. HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him: Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, And of his old experience the oily darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; And hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. KING We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you. Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back a again. KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think and think I know most sure My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING Are thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? HELENA The great'st grace lending grace Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. KING Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture? HELENA Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING Make thy demand. HELENA But will you make it even? KING Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING Here is my hand; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. COUNTESS I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me. COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time To entertain't so merrily with a fool. Clown O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: This is not much. Clown Not much commendation to them. COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me? Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. COUNTESS Haste you again. Exeunt severally SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM And so 'tis. LAFEU To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus. PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- PAROLLES Right; so I say. LAFEU That gave him out incurable,-- PAROLLES Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU Not to be helped,-- PAROLLES Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death. PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in--what do you call there? LAFEU A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. PAROLLES That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, I speak in respect-- PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- LAFEU Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES Ay, so I say. LAFEU In a most weak-- pausing and debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be-- pausing generally thankful. PAROLLES I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so. KING Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING Peruse them well: Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. All We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again.' KING Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? First Lord And grant it. HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love! Second Lord No better, if you please. HELENA My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir, And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. KING Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go. KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM I take her hand. KING Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES LAFEU [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master! LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES To any count, to all counts, to what is man. LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou't scarce worth. PAROLLES Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it. LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress. PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU Who? God? PAROLLES Ay, sir. LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-enter BERTRAM BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart? BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart? BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter HELENA and Clown HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well? Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clown Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA What two things? Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES Why, I say nothing. Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave. Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. PAROLLES Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA What's his will else? PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA What more commands he? PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will. PAROLLES I shall report it so. HELENA I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES Sir? LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? PAROLLES She is. BERTRAM Will she away to-night? PAROLLES As you'll have her. BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear. BERTRAM I think so. PAROLLES Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires Some private speech with you. BERTRAM I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you That presently you take our way for home; And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better than they seem And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to my mother: Giving a letter 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. HELENA Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that. HELENA And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM Well, what would you say? HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM What would you have? HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord: Faith yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. Exit HELENA Go thou toward home; where I will never come Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. First Lord Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. Second Lord Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE Be it his pleasure. First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE Welcome shall they be; And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clown By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? Clown E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! COUNTESS What is the matter? Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen First Gentleman Save you, good madam. HELENA Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Second Gentleman Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Reads When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? First Gentleman Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? Second Gentleman Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS Find you that there? HELENA Ay, madam. First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles, was it not? First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. First Gentleman Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. Second Gentleman We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near! Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. DUKE Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Steward COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Steward [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me: Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. COUNTESS What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger: When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger: My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. DIANA They say the French count has done most honourable service. Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. Tucket We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. DIANA You shall not need to fear me. Widow I hope so. Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port. HELENA Is this the way? Widow Ay, marry, is't. A march afar Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA Is it yourself? Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Widow You came, I think, from France? HELENA I did so. Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA His name, I pray you. DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. DIANA Whatsome'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: think you it is so? HELENA Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA What's his name? DIANA Monsieur Parolles. HELENA O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated: all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examined. DIANA Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleased. HELENA How do you mean? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow He does indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard In honestest defence. MARIANA The gods forbid else! Widow So, now they come: Drum and Colours Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA Which is the Frenchman? DIANA He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he loved his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA I like him well. DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave That leads him to these places: were I his lady, I would Poison that vile rascal. HELENA Which is he? DIANA That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. PAROLLES Lose our drum! well. MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Widow Marry, hang you! MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. HELENA I humbly thank you: Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. BOTH We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords Second Lord Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Second Lord On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Second Lord Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. First Lord It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him. First Lord None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. Second Lord I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. First Lord O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES Second Lord [Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. First Lord A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,--to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! First Lord That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES It might have been recovered. BERTRAM It might; but it is not now. PAROLLES It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. PAROLLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES I love not many words. Exit Second Lord No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do and dares better be damned than to do't? First Lord You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Second Lord None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. First Lord We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. Second Lord I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me. Second Lord As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord But you say she's honest. BERTRAM That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: Will you go see her? First Lord With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA and Widow HELENA If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Widow Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Widow I should believe you: For you have show'd me that which well approves You're great in fortune. HELENA Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Widow Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is passed already. Widow I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves; for he persists As if his life lay on't. HELENA Why then to-night Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush Second Lord He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter. First Soldier Good captain, let me be the interpreter. Second Lord Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? First Soldier No, sir, I warrant you. Second Lord But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? First Soldier E'en such as you speak to me. Second Lord He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. Second Lord This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. Second Lord Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Second Lord We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. Second Lord 'Twould not do. PAROLLES Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. Second Lord Hardly serve. PAROLLES Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. Second Lord How deep? PAROLLES Thirty fathom. Second Lord Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. Second Lord You shall hear one anon. PAROLLES A drum now of the enemy's,-- Alarum within Second Lord Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. They seize and blindfold him First Soldier Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES I know you are the Muskos' regiment: And I shall lose my life for want of language; If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Soldier Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES O! First Soldier O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. Second Lord Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Soldier The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES O, let me live! And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. First Soldier But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES If I do not, damn me. First Soldier Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within Second Lord Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. Second Soldier Captain, I will. Second Lord A' will betray us all unto ourselves: Inform on that. Second Soldier So I will, sir. Second Lord Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA She then was honest. BERTRAM So should you be. DIANA No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM No more o' that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM How have I sworn! DIANA 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, At least in my opinion. BERTRAM Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me. DIANA Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. DIANA Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault. BERTRAM Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers First Lord You have not given him his mother's letter? Second Lord I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man. First Lord He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. Second Lord Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. First Lord When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Second Lord He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. First Lord Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we! Second Lord Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. First Lord Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Second Lord Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. First Lord That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Second Lord We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. First Lord In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? Second Lord I hear there is an overture of peace. First Lord Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Second Lord What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? First Lord I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Second Lord Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. First Lord Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. Second Lord How is this justified? First Lord The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Second Lord Hath the count all this intelligence? First Lord Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. Second Lord I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. First Lord How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! Second Lord And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Messenger How now! where's your master? Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. Second Lord They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. First Lord They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. Second Lord If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. Second Lord Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Second Lord I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'? Second Lord His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me: hush, hush! First Lord Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa First Soldier He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em? PAROLLES I will confess what I know without constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. First Soldier Bosko chimurcho. First Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. First Soldier You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES And truly, as I hope to live. First Soldier [Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. First Soldier Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! First Lord You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Second Lord I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. First Lord He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES Poor rogues, I pray you, say. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. First Soldier [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM What shall be done to him? First Lord Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. First Soldier Well, that's set down. Reads 'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what do you know of it? PAROLLES I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly. First Soldier Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. First Soldier Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. First Lord Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. First Soldier What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. First Soldier Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters in my tent. First Soldier Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? PAROLLES I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well. First Lord Excellently. First Soldier [Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- PAROLLES That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. First Soldier Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. PAROLLES My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue! First Soldier [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. Second Lord This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. First Soldier I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. First Soldier We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? PAROLLES He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. First Lord I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. First Soldier What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. First Lord He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still. First Soldier His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. First Soldier What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? Second Lord Why does be ask him of me? First Soldier What's he? PAROLLES E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES [Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. PAROLLES O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him So, look about you: know you any here? BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on't yet PAROLLES Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers PAROLLES Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA HELENA That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be before our welcome. Widow Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown LAFEU No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. Clown I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Clown A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU Your distinction? Clown I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. LAFEU So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clown And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown At your service. LAFEU No, no, no. Clown Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU Who's that? a Frenchman? Clown Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU What prince is that? Clown The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clown I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clown If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy. COUNTESS So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. COUNTESS It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together. LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that. Clown But it is your carbonadoed face. LAFEU Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clown Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants HELENA But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. Gentleman And you. HELENA Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gentleman I have been sometimes there. HELENA I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gentleman What's your will? HELENA That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. Gentleman The king's not here. HELENA Not here, sir! Gentleman Not, indeed: He hence removed last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gentleman This I'll do for you. HELENA And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following PAROLLES Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clown Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. LAFEU And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. PAROLLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me! LAFEU Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. Trumpets sound The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. PAROLLES I praise God for you. Exeunt SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants KING We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. Gentleman I shall, my liege. Exit KING What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? LAFEU All that he is hath reference to your highness. KING Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU He looks well on't. KING I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING Well excused: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. BERTRAM gives a ring By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM Hers it was not. KING Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never Receive the ring again. KING Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM She never saw it. KING Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And makest conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize BERTRAM My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded KING I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman Gentleman Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. KING [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. KING The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded KING I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter Widow and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING Come hither, count; do you know these women? BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? DIANA Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. DIANA Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. KING What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. COUNTESS He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring's a thousand proofs. KING Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. LAFEU I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant BERTRAM What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? KING She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA I must be patient: You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet; Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM I have it not. KING What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. DIANA And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA Ay, my lord. KING Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING How, I pray you? PAROLLES He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING How is that? PAROLLES He loved her, sir, and loved her not. KING As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. LAFEU He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA Do you know he promised me marriage? PAROLLES Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? PAROLLES Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA Ay, my good lord. KING Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? DIANA It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING Who lent it you? DIANA It was not lent me neither. KING Where did you find it, then? DIANA I found it not. KING If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA I never gave it him. LAFEU This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. KING This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. DIANA It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA I'll never tell you. KING Take her away. DIANA I'll put in bail, my liege. KING I think thee now some common customer. DIANA By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? DIANA Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. KING She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. DIANA Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: Exit Widow The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA KING Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon! HELENA O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: To PAROLLES Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. To DIANA If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish EPILOGUE KING The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt As You Like It Shakespeare homepage | As You Like It | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother. ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here? ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. OLIVER What mar you then, sir? ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? OLIVER Know you where your are, sir? ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. OLIVER Know you before whom, sir? ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OLIVER What, boy! ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OLIVER Let me go, I say. ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog. ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS DENNIS Calls your worship? OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. OLIVER Call him in. Exit DENNIS 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES CHARLES Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. OLIVER Where will the old duke live? CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder. CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so God keep your worship! OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. Exit CHARLES Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. Exit SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? CELIA Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then? CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. CELIA 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE CELIA No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. CELIA Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. ROSALIND With his mouth full of news. CELIA Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter LE BEAU Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA Sport! of what colour? LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you? ROSALIND As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE Or as the Destinies decree. CELIA Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank,-- ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND You tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,-- CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men by these presents.' LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND Alas! TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants DUKE FREDERICK Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND Is yonder the man? LE BEAU Even he, madam. CELIA Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can tell you; there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK Do so: I'll not be by. LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA And mine, to eke out hers. ROSALIND Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you! CELIA Your heart's desires be with you! CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK You shall try but one fall. CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. ROSALIND Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. They wrestle ROSALIND O excellent young man! CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. Shout. CHARLES is thrown DUKE FREDERICK No more, no more. ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK I would thou hadst been son to some man else: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: I would thou hadst told me of another father. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU CELIA Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND Gentleman, Giving him a chain from her neck Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA Will you go, coz? ROSALIND Have with you. Fare you well. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause and love, Yet such is now the duke's condition That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous; what he is indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, Grounded upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Exit LE BEAU Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: But heavenly Rosalind! Exit SCENE III. A room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word? ROSALIND Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA But is all this for your father? ROSALIND No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. CELIA Hem them away. ROSALIND I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. CELIA Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! CELIA O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? ROSALIND The duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? ROSALIND Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. CELIA With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. ROSALIND Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness. DUKE FREDERICK Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. ROSALIND Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. ROSALIND So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish'd him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. CELIA Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords CELIA O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND I have more cause. CELIA Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? ROSALIND That he hath not. CELIA No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. ROSALIND Why, whither shall we go? CELIA To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. ROSALIND Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA I'll put myself in poor and mean attire And with a kind of umber smirch my face; The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-- We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? CELIA Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. AMIENS Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? Second Lord We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR Show me the place: I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. First Lord I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. Second Lord My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me; I'll make him find him: do this suddenly, And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting ORLANDO Who's there? ADAM What, my young master? O, my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO Why, what's the matter? ADAM O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son-- Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father-- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practises. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; And all this I give you. Let me be your servant: Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry But come thy ways; well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Aliena! CELIA I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. ROSALIND Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. TOUCHSTONE And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE Holla, you clown! ROSALIND Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN Who calls? TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. CORIN Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succor. CORIN Fair sir, I pity her And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see. And in my voice most welcome shall you be. ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt SCENE V. The Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others SONG. AMIENS Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. AMIENS My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you. JAQUES I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos? AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you. JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun All together here And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS And I'll sing it. JAQUES Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS What's that 'ducdame'? JAQUES 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. Exeunt severally SCENE VI. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt SCENE VII. The forest. A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws DUKE SENIOR I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. First Lord My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song. DUKE SENIOR If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES First Lord He saves my labour by his own approach. DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. JAQUES It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The 'why' is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not of my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it. DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have That to your wanting may be minister'd. ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. DUKE SENIOR Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. JAQUES All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. ORLANDO I thank you most for him. ADAM So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. DUKE SENIOR Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. SONG. AMIENS Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing, & c. DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER DUKE FREDERICK Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth Of what we think against thee. OLIVER O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Exit Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CORIN And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN No, truly. TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned. CORIN Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance. CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. CORIN Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading ROSALIND From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. ROSALIND Out, fool! TOUCHSTONE For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. ROSALIND I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing ROSALIND Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. CELIA [Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. ROSALIND O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people!' CELIA How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA Didst thou hear these verses? ROSALIND O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. CELIA That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. CELIA Trow you who hath done this? ROSALIND Is it a man? CELIA And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? ROSALIND I prithee, who? CELIA O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. ROSALIND Nay, but who is it? CELIA Is it possible? ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! ROSALIND Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that may drink thy tidings. CELIA So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard. ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. CELIA I' faith, coz, 'tis he. ROSALIND Orlando? CELIA Orlando. ROSALIND Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. ROSALIND It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed. CELIA There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CELIA Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. ROSALIND O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CELIA I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CELIA You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES ROSALIND 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. JAQUES I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. JAQUES God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can. ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. JAQUES Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO Yes, just. JAQUES I do not like her name. ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. JAQUES What stature is she of? ORLANDO Just as high as my heart. JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings? ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery. ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love. ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. JAQUES I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO Very well: what would you? ROSALIND I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? ROSALIND By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal. ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal. ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO Who stays it still withal? ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. ORLANDO Are you native of this place? ROSALIND As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it. ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them. ROSALIND No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy. ROSALIND There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO What were his marks? ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth. ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. ROSALIND Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth. ROSALIND Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind TOUCHSTONE Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? AUDREY Your features! Lord warrant us! what features! TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. JAQUES [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house! TOUCHSTONE When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUDREY I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? TOUCHSTONE No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. AUDREY Would you not have me honest? TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. JAQUES [Aside] A material fool! AUDREY Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. JAQUES [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy! TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? C ourage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the woman? TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES [Advancing] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. JAQUES Will you be married, motley? TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. TOUCHSTONE 'Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,-- O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee: but,-- Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY SIR OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. Exit SCENE IV. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND Never talk to me; I will weep. CELIA Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep? CELIA As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CELIA Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND Do you think so? CELIA Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND Not true in love? CELIA Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA Well, and what of him? CORIN If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind PHEBE I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS O dear Phebe, If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. PHEBE But till that time Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed-- Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. PHEBE Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHEBE For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN PHEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,-- PHEBE Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me. PHEBE Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. PHEBE Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS I would have you. PHEBE Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. PHEBE Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHEBE Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Between the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart. PHEBE I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. The forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND They say you are a melancholy fellow. JAQUES I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND Why then, 'tis good to be a post. JAQUES I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES Yes, I have gained my experience. ROSALIND And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too! Enter ORLANDO ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit ROSALIND Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO Of a snail? ROSALIND Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO What's that? ROSALIND Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND And I am your Rosalind. CELIA It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO What, of my suit? ROSALIND Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND Well in her person I say I will not have you. ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die. ROSALIND No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. ROSALIND By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO What sayest thou? ROSALIND Are you not good? ORLANDO I hope so. ROSALIND Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us. CELIA I cannot say the words. ROSALIND You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' CELIA Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO I will. ROSALIND Ay, but when? ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged. ROSALIND Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO For ever and a day. ROSALIND Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO O, but she is wise. ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. ROSALIND Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA And I'll sleep. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? A Lord Sir, it was I. JAQUES Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? Forester Yes, sir. JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. SONG. Forester What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it. ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention and his hand. SILVIUS Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. ROSALIND She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS Call you this railing? ROSALIND [Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. SILVIUS Call you this chiding? CELIA Alas, poor shepherd! ROSALIND Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit SILVIUS Enter OLIVER OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There's none within. OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.' Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLIVER Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND I am: what must we understand by this? OLIVER Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain'd. CELIA I pray you, tell it. OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. ROSALIND But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked. CELIA Are you his brother? ROSALIND Wast you he rescued? CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER 'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. ROSALIND But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER By and by. When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place:-- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. ROSALIND swoons CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! OLIVER Look, he recovers. ROSALIND I would I were at home. CELIA We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man's heart. ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter WILLIAM WILLIAM Good even, Audrey. AUDREY God ye good even, William. WILLIAM And good even to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM William, sir. TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so. TOUCHSTONE 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM No, sir. TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. WILLIAM Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this female,--which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY Do, good William. WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir. Exit Enter CORIN CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away! TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? OLIVER Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke and all's contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND God save you, brother. OLIVER And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO It is my arm. ROSALIND I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that. ROSALIND O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger. ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings? ROSALIND By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array: bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. PHEBE Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. ROSALIND I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. PHEBE Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And so am I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And so am I for no woman. PHEBE If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ROSALIND Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: To ORLANDO I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: To SILVIUS I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live. PHEBE Nor I. ORLANDO Nor I. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages First Page Well met, honest gentleman. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. Second Page We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Second Page I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, & c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, & c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, & c. TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. First Page You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt SCENE IV. The forest. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA DUKE SENIOR Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE ROSALIND Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here? DUKE SENIOR That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. ROSALIND You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? PHEBE That will I, should I die the hour after. ROSALIND But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? PHEBE So is the bargain. ROSALIND You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY JAQUES There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all! JAQUES Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. JAQUES And how was that ta'en up? TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. JAQUES How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR I like him very well. TOUCHSTONE God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. JAQUES Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA Still Music HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. ROSALIND [To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours. To ORLANDO To you I give myself, for I am yours. DUKE SENIOR If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! ROSALIND I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. HYMEN Peace, ho! I bar confusion: 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! DUKE SENIOR O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. PHEBE I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS JAQUES DE BOYS Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. DUKE SENIOR Welcome, young man; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. JAQUES Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? JAQUES DE BOYS He hath. JAQUES To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE SENIOR You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: To ORLANDO You to a love that your true faith doth merit: To OLIVER You to your land and love and great allies: To SILVIUS You to a long and well-deserved bed: To TOUCHSTONE And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay. JAQUES To see no pastime I what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. A dance EPILOGUE ROSALIND It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. Exeunt The Comedy of Errors Shakespeare homepage | Comedy of Errors | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die. AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed 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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased 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 meaner 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 embraced, 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, Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd 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, Dispersed 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 SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON 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 encounterd 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 seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt SCENE II. The Mart. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant First 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 dinner-time: 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 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? First 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 bed-time: 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. First Merchant Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit 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, falling 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 to-day. 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 darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE 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 undisposed: 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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit 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. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad. When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain; Would that alone, alone 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, and 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. A public place. 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 received 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 displeased. 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. Beating him 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 demeanor 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: an 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 trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'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, Want wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 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-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! 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. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR 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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR 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, Cicel, 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 [Within] 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 [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. LUCE [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Let my master in, Luce. LUCE [Within] 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 [Within] Have at you with another; that's--When? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? OF EPHESUS LUCE [Within] I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Master, knock the door hard. LUCE [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. LUCE [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? ADRIANA [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Are you there, wife? you might have come before. ADRIANA [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 there 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You have prevailed: 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. To Angelo 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. The First part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others KING HENRY IV 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; Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets 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 moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north and thus it did import: On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the 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 HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 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 call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath 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 HENRY IV 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. London. An apartment of the Prince's. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? PRINCE HENRY 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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY What, none? FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HENRY 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 fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt. FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 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 HENRY Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HENRY Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF Why, that's well said. PRINCE HENRY Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 vizards we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. PRINCE HENRY 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 lies the jest. PRINCE HENRY Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. POINS Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins PRINCE HENRY I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked 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 behavior 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, glittering 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. London. The palace. Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others KING HENRY IV 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. EARL OF 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 HENRY IV 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 You were about to speak. To North 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 misprison 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, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, 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 sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre 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 answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. SIR WALTER BLUNT The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV 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 but 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, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. KING HENRY IV 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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. Exeunt 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. Re-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 Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 wished 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, An 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-- EARL OF 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 he 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! EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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; Forbad 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure. HOTSPUR I have done, i' faith. EARL OF 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. You, my lord, To Northumberland 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? EARL OF 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? EARL OF WORCESTER And so they shall. HOTSPUR In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds fleas like a loach. First Carrier What, ostler! come away and be hanged! Second Carrier I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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 gentleman: they will along with company, for they have great charge. Exeunt carriers GADSHILL What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain [Within] 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. Enter Chamberlain 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 St. 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 Trojans that thou dreamest 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, cocksure; 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 highway, near Gadshill. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS POINS Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. PRINCE HENRY Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! PRINCE HENRY Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! FALSTAFF Where's Poins, Hal? PRINCE HENRY He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him. 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 squier 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 hath 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 HENRY Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? FALSTAFF Go, 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, BARDOLPH and PETO GADSHILL Stand. FALSTAFF So I do, against my will. POINS O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news? BARDOLPH Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? FALSTAFF Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. PRINCE HENRY Well, we leave that to the proof. POINS Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. FALSTAFF Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. PRINCE HENRY Ned, where are our disguises? POINS Here, hard by: stand close. Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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! Travellers Jesus 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. Travellers 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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY 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. 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. PRINCE HENRY Your money! POINS Villains! As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them PRINCE HENRY 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 rogue roar'd! Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth castle Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night. 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 cursed 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 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 by 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, An 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. God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY It must of force. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. POINS Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE HENRY With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet 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 under-skinker, 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. POINS Francis! PRINCE HENRY Thou art perfect. POINS Francis! Exit POINS Enter FRANCIS FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. PRINCE HENRY Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-- POINS [Within] Francis! FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner Poins! Re-enter POINS POINS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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. Re-enter FRANCIS What's o'clock, Francis? FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Exit PRINCE HENRY 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 to-day?' '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; FRANCIS following 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? He drinks PRINCE HENRY 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 villanous 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 live 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 any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 to-day. PRINCE HENRY O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. FALSTAFF All's one for that. He drinks A plague of all cowards, still say I. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Where is it, Jack? where is it? FALSTAFF Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE HENRY 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 hand-saw--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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,-- FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,-- FALSTAFF 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,-- PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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 HENRY Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord the prince! PRINCE HENRY How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, do, Jack. FALSTAFF 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit FALSTAFF PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY '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 HENRY 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 rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE HENRY I do. BARDOLPH What think you they portend? PRINCE HENRY Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE HENRY No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-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 o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,-- PRINCE HENRY He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF You have hit it. PRINCE HENRY So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. PRINCE HENRY Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE HENRY Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY 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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY 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 three score; 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I do, I will. A knocking heard Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH Re-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. Re-enter the Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord, my lord! PRINCE HENRY 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 mad, without seeming so. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Call in the sheriff. Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house. PRINCE HENRY What men? Sheriff One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier As fat as butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing 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 HENRY 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 HENRY I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sheriff Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers What hast thou found? PETO Nothing but papers, my lord. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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. Exeunt PETO Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III SCENE I. Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the 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 distemperature, 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's 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, To-morrow, 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, Not shall we need his help these fourteen days. 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 damm'd 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. EARL OF 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 alter'd. 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 axle-tree; 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 GLENDOWER MORTIMER Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! HOTSPUR I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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. EARL OF WORCESTER In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside 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. Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies MORTIMER This is the deadly spite that angers me; My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER My daughter weeps: she will 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same GLENDOWER She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks 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 learned 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. The lady speaks 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 is so humorous. By'r lady, he is 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 HOTSPUR 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'st 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 red-breast 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. The palace. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others KING HENRY IV 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 HENRY 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, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. KING HENRY IV 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 doth 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 capering 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself. KING HENRY IV 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 swathling 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 near'st 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 HENRY 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 HENRY IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. SIR WALTER 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 the state. KING HENRY IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; 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. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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! The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel,-- the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. FALSTAFF Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked a' should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant Page Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF Wait, close; I will not see him. Lord Chief-Justice What's he that goes there? Servant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Lord Chief-Justice He that was in question for the robbery? Servant He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Chief-Justice What, to York? Call him back again. Servant Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Lord Chief-Justice I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Servant Sir John! FALSTAFF What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Servant You mistake me, sir. FALSTAFF Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Servant I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Servant Sir, my lord would speak with you. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. FALSTAFF My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Lord Chief-Justice I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you. FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Lord Chief-Justice What tell you me of it? be it as it is. FALSTAFF It hath its original from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. Lord Chief-Justice I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. FALSTAFF Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Lord Chief-Justice To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. FALSTAFF I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. Lord Chief-Justice I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. FALSTAFF As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Lord Chief-Justice Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Lord Chief-Justice You have misled the youthful prince. FALSTAFF The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Lord Chief-Justice Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. FALSTAFF My lord? Lord Chief-Justice But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Lord Chief-Justice What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Lord Chief-Justice There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Lord Chief-Justice You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Lord Chief-Justice Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have chequed him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God send the prince a better companion! FALSTAFF God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. FALSTAFF Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Lord Chief-Justice Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Lord Chief-Justice Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant FALSTAFF If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page Sir? FALSTAFF What money is in my purse? Page Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. Exit Page A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? MOWBRAY I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied How in our means we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. HASTINGS Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. LORD BARDOLPH The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? HASTINGS With him, we may. LORD BARDOLPH Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. LORD BARDOLPH It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. HASTINGS But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. LORD BARDOLPH Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. HASTINGS Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. LORD BARDOLPH What, is the king but five and twenty thousand? HASTINGS To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HASTINGS If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. LORD BARDOLPH Who is it like should lead his forces hither? HASTINGS The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Let us on, And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard lived, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed! Past and to come seems best; things present worst. MOWBRAY Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? HASTINGS We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. London. A street. Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following. MISTRESS QUICKLY Master Fang, have you entered the action? FANG It is entered. MISTRESS QUICKLY Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? FANG Sirrah, where's Snare? MISTRESS QUICKLY O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. SNARE Here, here. FANG Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. MISTRESS QUICKLY Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. MISTRESS QUICKLY No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. FANG An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,-- MISTRESS QUICKLY I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH FALSTAFF How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter? FANG Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. FALSTAFF Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the channel. MISTRESS QUICKLY Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. FALSTAFF Keep them off, Bardolph. FANG A rescue! a rescue! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! FALSTAFF Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men Lord Chief-Justice What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. Lord Chief-Justice How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time and business? You should have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him? MISTRESS QUICKLY O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Lord Chief-Justice For what sum? MISTRESS QUICKLY It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. FALSTAFF I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Lord Chief-Justice How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? FALSTAFF What is the gross sum that I owe thee? MISTRESS QUICKLY Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. FALSTAFF My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the town that the eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and in person. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, in truth, my lord. Lord Chief-Justice Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. FALSTAFF My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Lord Chief-Justice You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this poor woman. FALSTAFF Come hither, hostess. Enter GOWER Lord Chief-Justice Now, Master Gower, what news? GOWER The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. MISTRESS QUICKLY Faith, you said so before. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it. MISTRESS QUICKLY By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. FALSTAFF Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. MISTRESS QUICKLY Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! FALSTAFF Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still. MISTRESS QUICKLY Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together? FALSTAFF Will I live? To BARDOLPH Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on. MISTRESS QUICKLY Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? FALSTAFF No more words; let's have her. Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy Lord Chief-Justice I have heard better news. FALSTAFF What's the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Where lay the king last night? GOWER At Basingstoke, my lord. FALSTAFF I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Come all his forces back? GOWER No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. FALSTAFF Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Lord Chief-Justice You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. FALSTAFF My lord! Lord Chief-Justice What's the matter? FALSTAFF Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? GOWER I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. FALSTAFF Will you sup with me, Master Gower? Lord Chief-Justice What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John? FALSTAFF Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Lord Chief-Justice Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool. Exeunt SCENE II. London. Another street. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Before God, I am exceeding weary. POINS Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. PRINCE HENRY Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? POINS Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition. PRINCE HENRY Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. POINS How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? PRINCE HENRY Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? POINS Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. PRINCE HENRY It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. POINS Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. PRINCE HENRY Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too. POINS Very hardly upon such a subject. PRINCE HENRY By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. POINS The reason? PRINCE HENRY What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? POINS I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. PRINCE HENRY It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? POINS Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff. PRINCE HENRY And to thee. POINS By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page PRINCE HENRY And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. BARDOLPH God save your grace! PRINCE HENRY And yours, most noble Bardolph! BARDOLPH Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? Page A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. PRINCE HENRY Has not the boy profited? BARDOLPH Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Page Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! PRINCE HENRY Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? Page Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. PRINCE HENRY A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy. POINS O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. BARDOLPH An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. PRINCE HENRY And how doth thy master, Bardolph? BARDOLPH Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you. POINS Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master? BARDOLPH In bodily health, sir. POINS Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. PRINCE HENRY I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes. POINS [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' PRINCE HENRY Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter. POINS [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. PRINCE HENRY Peace! POINS [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.' My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. PRINCE HENRY That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister? POINS God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. PRINCE HENRY Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? BARDOLPH Yea, my lord. PRINCE HENRY Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? BARDOLPH At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY What company? Page Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. PRINCE HENRY Sup any women with him? Page None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. PRINCE HENRY What pagan may that be? Page A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. PRINCE HENRY Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? POINS I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. PRINCE HENRY Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. BARDOLPH I have no tongue, sir. Page And for mine, sir, I will govern it. PRINCE HENRY Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. POINS I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. PRINCE HENRY How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? POINS Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. PRINCE HENRY From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY NORTHUMBERLAND I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! let them alone: The marshal and the archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way: Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers First Drawer What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. Second Drawer Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that. First Drawer Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. Second Drawer Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. First Drawer By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem. Second Drawer I'll see if I can find out Sneak. Exit Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET MISTRESS QUICKLY I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? DOLL TEARSHEET Better than I was: hem! The Life of King Henry the Fifth Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Exit SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged, Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of farther question. ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands which men devout By testament have given to the church Would they strip from us; being valued thus: As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil. A hundred almshouses right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill. ELY This would drink deep. CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all. ELY But what prevention? CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard. ELY And a true lover of the holy church. CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment Consideration, like an angel, came And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat and all at once As in this king. ELY We are blessed in the change. CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity, And all-admiring with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain, His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscured his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected. ELY But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? CANTERBURY He seems indifferent, Or rather swaying more upon our part Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; For I have made an offer to his majesty, Upon our spiritual convocation And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France, to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord? CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty; Save that there was not time enough to hear, As I perceived his grace would fain have done, The severals and unhidden passages Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms And generally to the crown and seat of France Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. ELY What was the impediment that broke this off? CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? ELY It is. CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Presence chamber. Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? EXETER Not here in presence. KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle. WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved, Before we hear him, of some things of weight That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne And make you long become it! KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why the law Salique that they have in France Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; For never two such kingdoms did contend Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord; For we will hear, note and believe in heart That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, That owe yourselves, your lives and services To this imperial throne. There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Then doth it well appear that Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly supposed the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, To find his title with some shows of truth, 'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. KING HENRY V May I with right and conscience make this claim? CANTERBURY The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, When the man dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back into your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English. that could entertain With half their forces the full Pride of France And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action! ELY Awake remembrance of these valiant dead And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. EXETER Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. WESTMORELAND They know your grace hath cause and means and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. CANTERBURY O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood and sword and fire to win your right; In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. KING HENRY V We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. CANTERBURY They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. KING HENRY V We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force, Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. CANTERBURY She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege; For hear her but exampled by herself: When all her chivalry hath been in France And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. WESTMORELAND But there's a saying very old and true, 'If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin:' For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. EXETER It follows then the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home; For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. CANTERBURY Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. KING HENRY V Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. Exeunt some Attendants Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. First Ambassador May't please your majesty to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? KING HENRY V We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. First Ambassador Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says that you savour too much of your youth, And bids you be advised there's nought in France That can be with a nimble galliard won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there. He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. KING HENRY V What treasure, uncle? EXETER Tennis-balls, my liege. KING HENRY V We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present and your pains we thank you for: When we have march'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, Be like a king and show my sail of greatness When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty And plodded like a man for working-days, But I will rise there with so full a glory That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten and unborn That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, To venge me as I may and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors EXETER This was a merry message. KING HENRY V We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected and all things thought upon That may with reasonable swiftness add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flourish ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed! Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nym. NYM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. BARDOLPH What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? NYM For my part, I care not: I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. NYM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. NYM I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter PISTOL and Hostess BARDOLPH Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol! PISTOL Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Hostess No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. NYM and PISTOL draw O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. BARDOLPH Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. NYM Pish! PISTOL Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Hostess Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. NYM Will you shog off? I would have you solus. PISTOL 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. NYM I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it. PISTOL O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. Draws PISTOL An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall. NYM I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it. PISTOL 'Couple a gorge!' That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to. Enter the Boy Boy Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. BARDOLPH Away, you rogue! Hostess By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy BARDOLPH Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? PISTOL Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! NYM You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL Base is the slave that pays. NYM That now I will have: that's the humour of it. PISTOL As manhood shall compound: push home. They draw BARDOLPH By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. PISTOL Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. BARDOLPH Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. NYM I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. NYM I shall have my noble? PISTOL In cash most justly paid. NYM Well, then, that's the humour of't. Re-enter Hostess Hostess As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. NYM The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. PISTOL Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. NYM The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. PISTOL Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND BEDFORD 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. EXETER They shall be apprehended by and by. WESTMORELAND How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. EXETER Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants KING HENRY V Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY V I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE Never was monarch better fear'd and loved Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY V We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. KING HENRY V We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him. SCROOP That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY V O, let us yet be merciful. CAMBRIDGE So may your highness, and yet punish too. GREY Sir, You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. KING HENRY V Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested, Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punished. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners? CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord: Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP So did you me, my liege. GREY And I, my royal sovereign. KING HENRY V Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. GREY SCROOP To which we all appeal. KING HENRY V The mercy that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law; And God acquit them of their practises! EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. SCROOP Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. CAMBRIDGE For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. GREY Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY V God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers Received the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy Hostess Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. BARDOLPH Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. NYM They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Ay, that a' did. BARDOLPH And of women. Hostess Nay, that a' did not. Boy Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils incarnate. Hostess A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy A' said once, the devil would have him about women. Hostess A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? BARDOLPH Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. NYM Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy c rystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy And that's but unwholesome food they say. PISTOL Touch her soft mouth, and march. BARDOLPH Farewell, hostess. Kissing her NYM I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. PISTOL Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. Hostess Farewell; adieu. Exeunt SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace. Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others KING OF FRANCE Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. DAUPHIN My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems: So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth. KING OF FRANCE Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger Messenger Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. KING OF FRANCE We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. DAUPHIN Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train KING OF FRANCE From our brother England? EXETER From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line, In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. KING OF FRANCE Or else what follows? EXETER Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. KING OF FRANCE For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. DAUPHIN For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: what to him from England? EXETER Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. DAUPHIN Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. KING OF FRANCE To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. KING OF FRANCE You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions: A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum, and chambers go off And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders KING HENRY V Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off SCENE II. The same. Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PISTOL And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN FLUELLEN Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward PISTOL Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! NYM These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy Boy As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. FLUELLEN It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER I think it be. FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY GOWER Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. FLUELLEN God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? MACMORRIS By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! JAMY By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation-- MACMORRIS Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? FLUELLEN Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY A! that's a foul fault. A parley sounded GOWER The town sounds a parley. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Before the gates. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train KING HENRY V How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? GOVERNOR Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible. KING HENRY V Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Flourish. The King and his train enter the town SCENE IV. The FRENCH KING's palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE KATHARINE Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. ALICE Un peu, madame. KATHARINE Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois? ALICE La main? elle est appelee de hand. KATHARINE De hand. Et les doigts? ALICE Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres. KATHARINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. KATHARINE De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. ALICE C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. KATHARINE Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras. ALICE De arm, madame. KATHARINE Et le coude? ALICE De elbow. KATHARINE De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHARINE Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. ALICE De elbow, madame. KATHARINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? ALICE De neck, madame. KATHARINE De nick. Et le menton? ALICE De chin. KATHARINE De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin. ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. KATHARINE Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. ALICE N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHARINE Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de fingres, de mails-- ALICE De nails, madame. KATHARINE De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. KATHARINE Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? ALICE De foot, madame; et de coun. KATHARINE De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. ALICE Excellent, madame! KATHARINE C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others KING OF FRANCE 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? BOURBON Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! Poor we may call them in their native lords. DAUPHIN By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BOURBON They bid us to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; Saying our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. KING OF FRANCE Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence: Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Constable This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear And for achievement offer us his ransom. KING OF FRANCE Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty. KING OF FRANCE Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, lord constable and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but did see him do as gallant service. GOWER What do you call him? FLUELLEN He is called Aunchient Pistol. GOWER I know him not. Enter PISTOL FLUELLEN Here is the man. PISTOL Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. PISTOL Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone-- FLUELLEN By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. FLUELLEN Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. The First part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright-- Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter to them another Messenger Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun. Enter another Messenger Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face. BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation. Exit GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor, And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves: Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or fly. Exeunt Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I! Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone. ALENCON Be it so. Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. CHARLES Go, call her in. Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS But first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern: By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash. JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou darest, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms: Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence. JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon And fightest with the sword of Deborah. JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out. JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously? First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector? First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here? GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats BISHOP OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this? GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I'll use to carry thee out of this place. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face. GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard, I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince. GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst, Cry. Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt SCENE IV. Orleans. Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Exit Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame: My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a linstock SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one and view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next. GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Thou shalt not die whiles-- He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.' Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? Enter a Messenger Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Here they fight TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. A short alarum Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Alarum. Here another skirmish It will not be: retire into your trenches: You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? TALBOT A maid, they say. BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial! BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner. BURGUNDY And I to this. TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault! Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so? BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend! At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure. REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord. CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in? JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. Exit SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him? Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company? BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. Whispers You perceive my mind? Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Porter Madam, I will. Exit COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and TALBOT Messenger Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Messenger Madam, it is. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter with keys COUNTESS The Second part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 2 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task and was espoused: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received. KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And over-joy of heart doth minister. KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech, Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; Such is the fulness of my heart's content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all. Flourish SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father'-- Lets the paper fall KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now! GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent over of the King of England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down: We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for the great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, Undoing all, as all had never been! CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy. But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery: For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu! YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives: And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have stayed in France and starved in France, Before-- CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: It was the pleasure of my lord the King. GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings. Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir apparent to the English crown: Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay: I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal: His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o' the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: Join we together, for the public good, In what we can, to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country! YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main. WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain, Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, While all is shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own: So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; And in my standard bear the arms of York To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows. DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me And on my head did set the diadem. GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more! DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque'd. GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter Messenger Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee and I. Enter HUME HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty! DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your grace's title shall be multiplied. DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? HUME This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him. DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban's we do make return, We'll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;' Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me? First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine? First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here! Reads 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. SUFFOLK Who is there? Enter Servant Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. Exit Servant with PETER QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Tears the supplication Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. ALL Come, let's be gone. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king? What shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester's governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, And placed a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd the regentship. SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field. BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all. SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this. QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women's matters. QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be protector of his excellence? GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?-- The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck; The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not? She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman: Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. Exit BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit Re-enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law: But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick! WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason: Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these? SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown And that your majesty was a usurper. KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words? HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigor of the law. HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent over the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant's malice: This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty. HORNER And I accept the combat willingly. PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, and leave us. Exit HUME Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear the sooner the better. BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth Spirit Adsum. MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' Reading out of a paper Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end. BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' Spirit Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this? Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close. And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. Stafford, take her to thee. Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away! Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? Reads 'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.' Why, this is just 'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' Well, to the rest: 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.' Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardly attain'd, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servingman Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy. CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. GLOUCESTER As who, my lord? SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord, An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester. KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the matter; In thine own person answer thy abuse. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if thou darest, This evening, on the east side of the grove. KING HENRY VI How now, my lords! CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport. Aside to GLOUCESTER Come with thy two-hand sword. GLOUCESTER True, uncle. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the east side of the grove? GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Aside to CARDINAL Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum-- Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!' GLOUCESTER What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Townsman A miracle! a miracle! SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife Ay, indeed, was he. SUFFOLK What woman is this? Wife His wife, an't like your worship. GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born? SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. CARDINAL What, art thou lame? SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me! SUFFOLK How camest thou so? SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree. Wife A plum-tree, master. GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind? SIMPCOX Born so, master. GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree? SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood. GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see. GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife Never, before this day, in all his life. GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not. GLOUCESTER What's his name? SIMPCOX I know not. GLOUCESTER Nor his? SIMPCOX No, indeed, master. GLOUCESTER What's thine own name? SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightest as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again? SIMPCOX O master, that you could! GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently. Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. Exit an Attendant GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. Enter a Beadle with whips GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!' KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run. GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away. GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BUCKINGHAM KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers: Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy-council; As more at large your grace shall understand. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart: Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest. And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have loved my king and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is, but if she have forgot Honour and virtue and conversed with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here: To-morrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly And call these foul offenders to their answers And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself, In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England's crown. SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full. WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. YORK Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth: Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reign'd. SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir. YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March: Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest. YORK His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days: Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king. Exeunt SCENE III. A hall of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution: The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days' open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee: I cannot justify whom the law condemns. Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go, Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert protector to thy King. QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England's realm. Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: As willingly do I the same resign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once; His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it; and God defend the right! YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter! First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid. Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already. SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? PETER Peter, forsooth. SALISBURY Peter! what more? PETER Thump. SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow! YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. Dies YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For his death we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. Sound a flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what's o'clock? Servants Ten, my lord. GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month. GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit Herald My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell! DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state. DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully? STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady; According to that state you shall be used. DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go? STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, And when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual. SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? YORK And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted. BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall. QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he's disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SOMERSET SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign! KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done! YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here. GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God! YORK In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny. GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else. SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent. GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness' land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide. GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak. BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded The Third part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 3 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. Throwing down SOMERSET's head YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. They go up WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK I am thine. EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-- Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? YORK What then? KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I. CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter! WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! Sennet. Here they come down YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came. Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt SCENE II. Sandal Castle. Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK About what? RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK What, with five thousand men? RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him! Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! Exit, dragged off by Soldiers CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- Lifting his hand RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD Thy father hath. RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. Stabs him RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! Dies CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A short alarum within Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. They lay hands on YORK, who struggles CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Putting a paper crown on his head Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Stabbing him QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. Stabbing him YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. Dies QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger WARWICK How now! what news? Messenger The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt SCENE II. Before York. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets QUEEN MARGARET Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger Messenger Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers EDWARD Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward. EDWARD No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. Exeunt SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE GEORGE Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD RICHARD Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD RICHARD Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone KING HENRY VI This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body Son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body Father Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body Father These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY VI Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER PRINCE EDWARD Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt SCENE VI. Another part of the field. A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded CLIFFORD Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. He faints Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers EDWARD Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. CLIFFORD groans, and dies EDWARD Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A forest in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands First Keeper Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook KING HENRY VI From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt SCENE II. London. The palace. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY KING EDWARD IV Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! KING EDWARD IV Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD IV How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. KING EDWARD IV 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire KING EDWARD IV Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. LADY GREY Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. KING EDWARD IV But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. KING EDWARD IV [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty: One way or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-- Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? LADY GREY 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. KING EDWARD IV Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman Nobleman My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day. SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? NORFOLK I thank your grace, Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren. NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? BUCKINGHAM All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. NORFOLK Then you lost The view of earthly glory: men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. To-day the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this masque Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise: and, being present both 'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-- For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed. BUCKINGHAM O, you go far. NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. BUCKINGHAM Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord? NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth. NORFOLK Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied For eminent assistants; but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: whence has he that, If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. BUCKINGHAM Why the devil, Upon this French going out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. ABERGAVENNY I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. BUCKINGHAM O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? NORFOLK Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. BUCKINGHAM Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy; That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. NORFOLK Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore The ambassador is silenced? NORFOLK Marry, is't. ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased At a superfluous rate! BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. NORFOLK Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you-- And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety--that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said, It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? First Secretary Here, so please you. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready? First Secretary Ay, please your grace. CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood. NORFOLK What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks Matter against me; and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object: at this instant He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king; I'll follow and outstare him. NORFOLK Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim There's difference in no persons. NORFOLK Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. BUCKINGHAM Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not but From sincere motions, by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. NORFOLK Say not 'treasonous.' BUCKINGHAM To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't; his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-- Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. NORFOLK Faith, and so it did. BUCKINGHAM Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o' the combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,-- Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt-- For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview betwixt England and France might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,-- Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made, And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. NORFOLK I am sorry To hear this of him; and could wish he were Something mistaken in't. BUCKINGHAM No, not a syllable: I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof. Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard BRANDON Your office, sergeant; execute it. Sergeant Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. BUCKINGHAM Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practise. BRANDON I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. BUCKINGHAM It will help me nothing To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things! I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well! BRANDON Nay, he must bear you company. The king To ABERGAVENNY Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. ABERGAVENNY As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd! BRANDON Here is a warrant from The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-- BUCKINGHAM So, so; These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope. BRANDON A monk o' the Chartreux. BUCKINGHAM O, Nicholas Hopkins? BRANDON He. BUCKINGHAM My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side KING HENRY VIII My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him QUEEN KATHARINE Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. KING HENRY VIII Arise, and take place by us: half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will and take it. QUEEN KATHARINE Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. KING HENRY VIII Lady mine, proceed. QUEEN KATHARINE I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been commissions Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions, yet the king our master-- Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. NORFOLK Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among then! KING HENRY VIII Taxation! Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? CARDINAL WOLSEY Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me. QUEEN KATHARINE No, my lord, You know no more than others; but you frame Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. KING HENRY VIII Still exaction! The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? QUEEN KATHARINE I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths: Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. KING HENRY VIII By my life, This is against our pleasure. CARDINAL WOLSEY And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State-statues only. KING HENRY VIII Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is question'd send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission: pray, look to't; I put it to your care. CARDINAL WOLSEY A word with you. To the Secretary Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. Exit Secretary Enter Surveyor QUEEN KATHARINE I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. KING HENRY VIII It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-- This was his gentleman in trust--of him Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. KING HENRY VIII Speak freely. Surveyor First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, that if the king Should without issue die, he'll carry it so To make the sceptre his: these very words I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced Revenge upon the cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. QUEEN KATHARINE My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. KING HENRY VIII Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surveyor He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. KING HENRY VIII What was that Hopkins? Surveyor Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor, who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. KING HENRY VIII How know'st thou this? Surveyor Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he, 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs, Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke Shall govern England.' QUEEN KATHARINE If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. KING HENRY VIII Let him on. Go forward. Surveyor On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forged him some design, which, being believed, It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, It can do me no damage;' adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. KING HENRY VIII Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further? Surveyor I can, my liege. KING HENRY VIII Proceed. Surveyor Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reproved the duke About Sir William Blomer,-- KING HENRY VIII I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surveyor 'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife to him.' KING HENRY VIII A giant traitor! CARDINAL WOLSEY Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, and this man out of prison? QUEEN KATHARINE God mend all! KING HENRY VIII There's something more would out of thee; what say'st? Surveyor After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,' He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo His father by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. KING HENRY VIII There's his period, To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none, Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, He's traitor to the height. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain and SANDS Chamberlain Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? SANDS New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Chamberlain As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage is but merely A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. SANDS They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it, That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. Chamberlain Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter LOVELL How now! What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? LOVELL Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Chamberlain What is't for? LOVELL The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Chamberlain I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. LOVELL They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those remnants Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable point of ignorance Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. SANDS 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Chamberlain What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! LOVELL Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. SANDS The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, Held current music too. Chamberlain Well said, Lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. SANDS No, my lord; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Chamberlain Sir Thomas, Whither were you a-going? LOVELL To the cardinal's: Your lordship is a guest too. Chamberlain O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. LOVELL That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Chamberlain No doubt he's noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. SANDS He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal; They are set here for examples. Chamberlain True, they are so: But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else; which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford This night to be comptrollers. SANDS I am your lordship's. Exeunt SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD GUILDFORD Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates To fair content and you: none here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Chamberlain You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. SANDS Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. LOVELL O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these! SANDS I would I were; They should find easy penance. LOVELL Faith, how easy? SANDS As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Chamberlain Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze; Two women placed together makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies. SANDS By my faith, And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies: If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. ANNE Was he mad, sir? SANDS O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Kisses her Chamberlain Well said, my lord. So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. SANDS For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state CARDINAL WOLSEY You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome; And to you all, good health. Drinks SANDS Your grace is noble: Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. CARDINAL WOLSEY My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this? SANDS The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em Talk us to silence. ANNE You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sands. SANDS Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,-- ANNE You cannot show me. SANDS I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged CARDINAL WOLSEY What's that? Chamberlain Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant CARDINAL WOLSEY What warlike voice, And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant Chamberlain How now! what is't? Servant A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. CARDINAL WOLSEY Good lord chamberlain, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and once more I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him A noble company! what are their pleasures? Chamberlain Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with 'em. CARDINAL WOLSEY Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE KING HENRY VIII The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance CARDINAL WOLSEY My lord! Chamberlain Your grace? CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Chamberlain I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers CARDINAL WOLSEY What say they? Chamberlain Such a one, they all confess, There is indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. CARDINAL WOLSEY Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make My royal choice. KING HENRY VIII Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. CARDINAL WOLSEY I am glad Your grace is grown so pleasant. KING HENRY VIII My lord chamberlain, Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? Chamberlain An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter-- The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women. KING HENRY VIII By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber? LOVELL Yes, my lord. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. KING HENRY VIII I fear, too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. KING HENRY VIII Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. Exeunt with trumpets ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting First Gentleman Whither away so fast? Second Gentleman O, God save ye! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. First Gentleman I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. Second Gentleman Were you there? First Gentleman Yes, indeed, was I. Second Gentleman Pray, speak what has happen'd. First Gentleman You may guess quickly what. Second Gentleman Is he found guilty? First Gentleman Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. Second Gentleman I am sorry for't. First Gentleman So are a number more. Second Gentleman But, pray, how pass'd it? First Gentleman I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty and alleged Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney on the contrary Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired To have brought viva voce to his face: At which appear'd against him his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. Second Gentleman That was he That fed him with his prophecies? First Gentleman The same. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all Was either pitied in him or forgotten. Second Gentleman After all this, how did he bear himself? First Gentleman When he was brought again to the bar, to hear His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and sweetly In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. Second Gentleman I do not think he fears death. First Gentleman Sure, he does not: He never was so womanish; the cause He may a little grieve at. Second Gentleman Certainly The cardinal is the end of this. First Gentleman 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. Second Gentleman That trick of state Was a deep envious one. First Gentleman At his return No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, And generally, whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. Second Gentleman All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, The mirror of all courtesy;-- First Gentleman Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people Second Gentleman Let's stand close, and behold him. BUCKINGHAM All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death; 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em: Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. LOVELL I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. BUCKINGHAM Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no black envy Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be! And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! LOVELL To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. VAUX Prepare there, The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. BUCKINGHAM Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first raised head against usurping Richard, Flying for succor to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all That made me happy at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me, A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train First Gentleman O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their beads That were the authors. Second Gentleman If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. First Gentleman Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? Second Gentleman This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. First Gentleman Let me have it; I do not talk much. Second Gentleman I am confident, You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the king and Katharine? First Gentleman Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor straight To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. Second Gentleman But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: to confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; As all think, for this business. First Gentleman 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. Second Gentleman I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. First Gentleman 'Tis woful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter Chamberlain 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: He will have all, I think. Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK Well met, my lord chamberlain. Chamberlain Good day to both your graces. SUFFOLK How is the king employ'd? Chamberlain I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK What's the cause? Chamberlain It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. SUFFOLK Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else. NORFOLK How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage: And out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? Chamberlain Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare Look into these affairs see this main end, The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. SUFFOLK And free us from his slavery. NORFOLK We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. SUFFOLK For me, my lords, I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud, the pope. NORFOLK Let's in; And with some other business put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My lord, you'll bear us company? Chamberlain Excuse me; The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships. NORFOLK Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, ha? NORFOLK Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? NORFOLK A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way Is business of estate; in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING HENRY VIII Ye are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king. To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us and it. To CARDINAL WOLSEY My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING HENRY VIII [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him? SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of: I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; Whom once more I present unto your highness. KING HENRY VIII And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves: They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING HENRY VIII Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? CARDINAL WOLSEY I know your majesty has always loved her So dear in heart, not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law: Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING HENRY VIII Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary: I find him a fit fellow. Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. GARDINER [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. KING HENRY VIII Come hither, Gardiner. Walks and whispers CARDINAL CAMPEIUS My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, he was. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Was he not held a learned man? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, surely. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY How! of me? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him, That he ran mad and died. CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment: I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING HENRY VIII Deliver this with modesty to the queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, Would it not grieve an able man to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. Enter ANNE and an Old Lady ANNE Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: His highness having lived so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old Lady Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. ANNE O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old Lady Our content Is our best having. ANNE By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old Lady Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy: You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. ANNE Nay, good troth. Old Lady Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? ANNE No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? ANNE No, in truth. Old Lady Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. ANNE How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old Lady In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter Chamberlain Chamberlain Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Chamberlain It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well. ANNE Now, I pray God, amen! Chamberlain You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. ANNE I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender; More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. Chamberlain Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The king hath of you. Aside I have perused her well; Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king: and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, And say I spoke with you. Exit Chamberlain ANNE My honour'd lord. Old Lady Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up Before you open it. ANNE This is strange to me. Old Lady How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? ANNE Come, you are pleasant. Old Lady With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! No other obligation! By my life, That promises moe thousands: honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess: say, Are you not stronger than you were? ANNE Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: pray, do not deliver What here you've heard to her. Old Lady What do you think me? Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage CARDINAL WOLSEY Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING HENRY VIII What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may, then, spare that time. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be't so. Proceed. Scribe Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier Henry King of England, & c. KING HENRY VIII Here. Scribe Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. Crier Katharine Queen of England, & c. QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable; Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry As I saw it inclined: when was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: if, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many A year before: it is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! CARDINAL WOLSEY You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS His grace Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produced and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE Lord cardinal, To you I speak. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induced by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me; Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. CARDINAL WOLSEY I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you or any: how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual: that again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judged by him. She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart CARDINAL CAMPEIUS The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. She's going away. KING HENRY VIII Call her again. Crier Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GRIFFITH Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants KING HENRY VIII Go thy ways, Kate: That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. CARDINAL WOLSEY Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloosed, although not there At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING HENRY VIII My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You're excused: But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it: on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't: My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business, Ere a determinate resolution, he, I mean the bishop, did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advertise Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forced such way, That many mazed considerings did throng And press'd in with this caution. First, methought I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If it conceived a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't than The grave does to the dead; for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together: that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,--which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,-- By all the reverend fathers of the land And doctors learn'd: first I began in private With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek, When I first moved you. LINCOLN Very well, my liege. KING HENRY VIII I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread, that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course Which you are running here. KING HENRY VIII I then moved you, My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons: unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on: For no dislike i' the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' the world. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. KING HENRY VIII [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. Exeunt in manner as they entered ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments. Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman QUEEN KATHARINE How now! Gentleman An't please your grace, the two great cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE Would they speak with me? Gentleman They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE Pray their graces To come near. Exit Gentleman What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS CARDINAL WOLSEY Peace to your highness! QUEEN KATHARINE Your graces find me here part of a housewife, I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? CARDINAL WOLSEY May it please you noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE Speak it here: There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner: would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not, so much I am happy Above a number, if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. CARDINAL WOLSEY Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-- QUEEN KATHARINE O, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English. CARDINAL WOLSEY Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. We come not by the way of accusation, To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, Forgetting, like a good man your late censure Both of his truth and him, which was too far, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE [Aside] To betray me.-- My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so! But how to make ye suddenly an answer, In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,-- More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking Either for such men or such business. For her sake that I have been,--for I feel The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces, Let me have time and counsel for my cause: Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE In England But little for my profit: can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here: They are, as all my other comforts, far hence In mine own country, lords. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS I would your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE How, sir? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Put your main cause into the king's protection; He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better and your cause; For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, You'll part away disgraced. CARDINAL WOLSEY He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries; I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye And all such false professors! would you have me-- If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? loved him next heaven? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. CARDINAL WOLSEY If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. QUEEN KATHARINE Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly; You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment. Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain NORFOLK If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: if you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, With these you bear already. SURREY I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be revenged on him. SUFFOLK Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person Out of himself? Chamberlain My lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me I know; What we can do to him, though now the time Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in's tongue. NORFOLK O, fear him not; His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. SURREY Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. NORFOLK Believe it, this is true: In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy. SURREY How came His practises to light? SUFFOLK Most strangely. SURREY O, how, how? SUFFOLK The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' SURREY Has the king this? SUFFOLK Believe it. SURREY Will this work? Chamberlain The king in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death: the king already Hath married the fair lady. SURREY Would he had! SUFFOLK May you be happy in your wish, my lord For, I profess, you have it. SURREY Now, all my joy Trace the conjunction! SUFFOLK My amen to't! NORFOLK All men's! SUFFOLK There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memorised. SURREY But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! NORFOLK Marry, amen! SUFFOLK No, no; There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried Ha! at this. Chamberlain Now, God incense him, And let him cry Ha! louder! NORFOLK But, my lord, When returns Cranmer? SUFFOLK He is return'd in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager And widow to Prince Arthur. NORFOLK This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business. SUFFOLK He has; and we shall see him For it an archbishop. NORFOLK So I hear. SUFFOLK 'Tis so. The cardinal! Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL NORFOLK Observe, observe, he's moody. CARDINAL WOLSEY The packet, Cromwell. Gave't you the king? CROMWELL To his own hand, in's bedchamber. CARDINAL WOLSEY Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? CROMWELL Presently He did unseal them: and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this morning. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he ready To come abroad? CROMWELL I think, by this he is. CARDINAL WOLSEY Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL Aside It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! NORFOLK He's discontented. SUFFOLK May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. SURREY Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice! CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. NORFOLK He is vex'd at something. SURREY I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord on's heart! Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL SUFFOLK The king, the king! KING HENRY VIII What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together! Now, my lords, Saw you the cardinal? NORFOLK My lord, we have Stood here observing him: some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple, straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. KING HENRY VIII It may well be; There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I required: and wot you what I found There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. NORFOLK It's heaven's will: Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. KING HENRY VIII If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven forgive me! Ever God bless your highness! KING HENRY VIII Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind; the which You were now running o'er: you have scarce time To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that I deem you an ill husband, and am glad To have you therein my companion. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business which I bear i' the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendence to. KING HENRY VIII You have said well. CARDINAL WOLSEY And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! KING HENRY VIII 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you: His said he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But pared my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] What should this mean? SURREY [Aside] The Lord increase this business! KING HENRY VIII Have I not made you, The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us or no. What say you? CARDINAL WOLSEY My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends Have been mine so that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. The Life and Death of King John Shakespeare homepage | King John | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. KING JOHN'S palace. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France In my behavior to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty, of England here. QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!' KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island and the territories, To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Which sways usurpingly these several titles, And put these same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this? CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The farthest limit of my embassy. KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath And sullen presage of your own decay. An honourable conduct let him have: Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said How that ambitious Constance would not cease Till she had kindled France and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented and made whole With very easy arguments of love, Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us. QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right, Or else it must go wrong with you and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. Enter a Sheriff ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy Come from country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? KING JOHN Let them approach. Our abbeys and our priories shall pay This expedition's charge. Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD What men are you? BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. KING JOHN What art thou? ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? You came not of one mother then, it seems. BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king; That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But for the certain knowledge of that truth I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother And wound her honour with this diffidence. BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea and none of mine; The which if he can prove, a' pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whether I be as true begot or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head, But that I am as well begot, my liege,-- Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-- Compare our faces and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both And were our father and this son like him, O old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father. With half that face would he have all my land: A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived, Your brother did employ my father much,-- BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there with the emperor To treat of high affairs touching that time. The advantage of his absence took the king And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, As I have heard my father speak himself, When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and took it on his death That this my mother's son was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, And if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf bred from his cow from all the world; In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force To dispossess that child which is not his? BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence and no land beside? BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Would I might never stir from off this place, I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case. QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? I am a soldier and now bound to France. BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither. BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way. KING JOHN What is thy name? BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, yours gave land. Now blessed by the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away! QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet! I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so. BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And I am I, howe'er I was begot. KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire; A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed For France, for France, for it is more than need. BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. Exeunt all but BASTARD A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'-- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective and too sociable For your conversion. Now your traveller, He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 'I shall beseech you'--that is question now; And then comes answer like an Absey book: 'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir;' 'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' And so, ere answer knows what question would, Saving in dialogue of compliment, And talking of the Alps and Apennines, The Pyrenean and the river Po, It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society And fits the mounting spirit like myself, For he is but a bastard to the time That doth not smack of observation; And so am I, whether I smack or no; And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement, But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady! What brings you here to court so hastily? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chase mine honour up and down? BASTARD My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. BASTARD James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? GURNEY Good leave, good Philip. BASTARD Philip! sparrow: James, There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more. Exit GURNEY Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? BASTARD Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; Legitimation, name and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? BASTARD As faithfully as I deny the devil. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father: By long and vehement suit I was seduced To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urged past my defence. BASTARD Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He that perforce robs lions of their hearts May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. France. Before Angiers. Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side: on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS, ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants LEWIS Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. ARTHUR God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death The rather that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. LEWIS A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? AUSTRIA Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love, That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages: We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England bring, That right in peace which here we urge in war, And then we shall repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON KING PHILIP A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arrived! What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. CHATILLON Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I; His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king's deceased, And all the unsettled humours of the land, Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make hazard of new fortunes here: In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did nearer float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. Drum beats The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. KING PHILIP How much unlook'd for is this expedition! AUSTRIA By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them be welcome then: we are prepared. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, Lords, and forces KING JOHN Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own; If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven. KING PHILIP Peace be to England, if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace. England we love; and for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king Cut off the sequence of posterity, Out-faced infant state and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? KING JOHN From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? KING PHILIP From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right: That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong And by whose help I mean to chastise it. KING JOHN Alack, thou dost usurp authority. KING PHILIP Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. QUEEN ELINOR Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? CONSTANCE Let me make answer; thy usurping son. QUEEN ELINOR Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world! CONSTANCE My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners; being as like As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. QUEEN ELINOR There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. CONSTANCE There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. AUSTRIA Peace! BASTARD Hear the crier. AUSTRIA What the devil art thou? BASTARD One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a' may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. BLANCH O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! BASTARD It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. AUSTRIA What craker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? KING PHILIP Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. LEWIS Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all; England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? KING JOHN My life as soon: I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. QUEEN ELINOR Come to thy grandam, child. CONSTANCE Do, child, go to it grandam, child: Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. ARTHUR Good my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that's made for me. QUEEN ELINOR His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. CONSTANCE Now shame upon you, whether she does or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed To do him justice and revenge on you. QUEEN ELINOR Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! CONSTANCE Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp The dominations, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. KING JOHN Bedlam, have done. CONSTANCE I have but this to say, That he is not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plague for her And with her plague; her sin his injury, Her injury the beadle to her sin, All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; a plague upon her! QUEEN ELINOR Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. CONSTANCE Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will: A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! KING PHILIP Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions. Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls First Citizen Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? KING PHILIP 'Tis France, for England. KING JOHN England, for itself. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-- KING PHILIP You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-- KING JOHN For our advantage; therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege All merciless proceeding by these French Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; And but for our approach those sleeping stones, That as a waist doth girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the sight of us your lawful king, Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a countercheque before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle; And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. KING PHILIP When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you Than the constraint of hospitable zeal In the relief of this oppressed child Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty which you truly owe To that owes it, namely this young prince: And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, We will bear home that lusty blood again Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls Can hide you from our messengers of war, Though all these English and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage And stalk in blood to our possession? First Citizen In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. First Citizen That can we not; but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal: till that time Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. KING JOHN Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- BASTARD Bastards, and else. KING JOHN To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- BASTARD Some bastards too. KING PHILIP Stand in his face to contradict his claim. First Citizen Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! KING PHILIP Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! BASTARD Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! To AUSTRIA Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA Peace! no more. BASTARD O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD Speed then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, with trumpets, to the gates French Herald You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet English Herald Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. First Citizen Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their powers, severally KING JOHN France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. KING PHILIP England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. BASTARD Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! KING JOHN Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? KING PHILIP Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? First Citizen The king of England; when we know the king. KING PHILIP Know him in us, that here hold up his right. KING JOHN In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. First Citizen A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. BASTARD By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'ld play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? KING JOHN Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers And lay this Angiers even to the ground; Then after fight who shall be king of it? BASTARD An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wronged as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other and pell-mell Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. KING PHILIP Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? KING JOHN We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. AUSTRIA I from the north. KING PHILIP Our thunder from the south Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. BASTARD O prudent discipline! From north to south: Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away! First Citizen Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. KING JOHN Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. First Citizen That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, Is niece to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete of, say he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. O, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in; And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can To our fast-closed gates; for at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance: but without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion, no, not Death himself In moral fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. BASTARD Here's a stay That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas, Talks as familiarly of roaring lions As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue: Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his But buffets better than a fist of France: Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. QUEEN ELINOR Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition, Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. First Citizen Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? KING PHILIP Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: what say you? KING JOHN If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, Except this city now by us besieged, Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich In titles, honours and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. KING PHILIP What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. LEWIS I do, my lord; and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye: Which being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow: I do protest I never loved myself Till now infixed I beheld myself Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. Whispers with BLANCH BASTARD Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be In such a love so vile a lout as he. BLANCH My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or if you will, to speak more properly, I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this; that nothing do I see in you, Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge, That I can find should merit any hate. KING JOHN What say these young ones? What say you my niece? BLANCH That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. KING JOHN Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? LEWIS Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly. KING JOHN Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. KING PHILIP It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. AUSTRIA And your lips too; for I am well assured That I did so when I was first assured. KING PHILIP Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel presently The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? I know she is not, for this match made up Her presence would have interrupted much: Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. LEWIS She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. KING PHILIP And, by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. KING JOHN We will heal up all; For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity: I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. Exeunt all but the BASTARD BASTARD Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, Who, having no external thing to lose But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world, The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, From a resolved and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And why rail I on this Commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm; But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit The Life and Death of Richard the Second Shakespeare homepage | Richard II | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. Exeunt SCENE IV. The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter BUSHY Bushy, what news? BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All Amen. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c JOHN OF GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY DUKE OF YORK The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. Exit, borne off by his Attendants KING RICHARD II And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND NORTHUMBERLAND My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit KING RICHARD II Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT NORTHUMBERLAND Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT BUSHY Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter GREEN GREEN God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY Despair not, madam. QUEEN Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter DUKE OF YORK GREEN Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK What is't, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Exit Servant Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. The Life and Death of Richard the Third Shakespeare homepage | Richard III | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER Upon what cause? CLARENCE Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER What news abroad? HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS He is. GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit HASTINGS He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER I grant ye. LADY ANNE Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE I hope so. GLOUCESTER I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE Name him. GLOUCESTER Plantagenet. LADY ANNE Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE Where is he? GLOUCESTER Here. She spitteth at him Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY RIVERS Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY GREY Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET GLOUCESTER They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET Richard! GLOUCESTER Ha! QUEEN MARGARET I call thee not. GLOUCESTER I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit HASTINGS My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER So do I ever: Aside being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Enter CATESBY CATESBY Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY BRAKENBURY Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! CLARENCE sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers First Murderer Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY reads it BRAKENBURY I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY Second Murderer What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer So I am, to let him live. First Murderer Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer A man, as you are. CLARENCE But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both To, to, to-- CLARENCE To murder me? Both Ay, ay. CLARENCE You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Ay, so we will. CLARENCE Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer What shall we do? CLARENCE Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer Take that, and that: if all this will not do, Stabs him I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body Second Murderer A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter First Murderer First Murderer How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. Exit First Murderer So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. ACT II SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others KING EDWARD IV Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS And so swear I, my lord They embrace KING EDWARD IV Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, To the Queen but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter DERBY DORSET A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET GLOUCESTER This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM We wait upon your grace. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE Boy Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK No, boy. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK Ay, boy. Boy I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF GLOUCESTER Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS And so say I. GLOUCESTER Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH DUCHESS OF YORK With all our harts. Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER BUCKINGHAM My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt SCENE III. London. A street. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen Third Citizen Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. The Tragedy of Coriolanus Shakespeare homepage | Coriolanus | Entire play 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 Marcius 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 particularise 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 Marcius? All 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 fort, 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 till 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' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All Come, come. First Citizen Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA 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 the 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' the 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 store-houses 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 Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the 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 answer'd-- 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 the 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 In 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 restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen Ye're long about it. MENENIUS Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: '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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st 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 MARCIUS Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd 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? MARCIUS They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd 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 answer'd, 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' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS What is granted them? MARCIUS 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 unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS This is strange. MARCIUS Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger, hastily Messenger Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS Here: what's the matter? Messenger The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS First Senator Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS You have fought together. MARCIUS Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS It is your former promise. MARCIUS 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 No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS O, true-bred! First Senator Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. To MARCIUS Right worthy you priority. COMINIUS Noble Marcius! First Senator [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone! MARCIUS Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS He has no equal. SICINIUS When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS Be-mock 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, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius 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 his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS Lets along. Exeunt SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate-house. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators 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 press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius 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 veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd 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 Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring 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 Marcius 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. A room in Marcius' house. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA 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 the 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 Marcius, 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 the 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 mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd 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, look'd 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 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 house-keepers. 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 school-master. 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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife 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 Corioli; 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 every thing 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 Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a Messenger MARCIUS Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS 'Tis done. LARTIUS Agreed. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS How far off lie these armies? Messenger Within this mile and half. MARCIUS 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 Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Drums 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 pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS O, they are at it! LARTIUS Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces MARCIUS 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. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing MARCIUS 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 abhorr'd Further 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 followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates 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. Enters the gates First Soldier Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier Nor I. MARCIUS is shut in First Soldier See, they have shut him in. All To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS LARTIUS What is become of Marcius? All Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd 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, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: 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 thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy First Soldier Look, sir. LARTIUS O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city SCENE V. Corioli. 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. Alarum continues still afar off Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! 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! 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. MARCIUS Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd 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! MARCIUS Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the 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. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger Thy news? Messenger The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS Though thou speak'st 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. COMINIUS Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS [Within] Come I too late? COMINIUS The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. Enter MARCIUS MARCIUS Come I too late? COMINIUS Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli 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 is he? call him hither. MARCIUS Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the 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. MARCIUS 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 smear'd; 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 Marcius. 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 obey'd. Please you to march; And four 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 Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with 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 the Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt SCENE VIII. A field of battle. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the 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 camest 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-- MARCIUS 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 vouch'd, 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. MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. 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. MARCIUS 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 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd 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 Marcius 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 Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums All Caius Marcius 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 the 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 Corioli 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 Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was with in my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS Marcius, 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 look'd to: come. 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! First Soldier 'Twill be deliver'd 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. First Soldier He's the devil. AUFIDIUS Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering 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 Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier Will not you go? AUFIDIUS I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier I shall, sir. Exeunt 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 to-night. BRUTUS Good or bad? MENENIUS Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS The lamb. MENENIUS Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Well, sir. MENENIUS In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the right-hand file? do you? Both Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS 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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA VIRGILIA Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow. MENENIUS True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body. MENENIUS One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald Herald Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! Kneels VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, 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 laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli 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 ye'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. 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, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily 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 temperately 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 I 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' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the 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 the 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 he 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 Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: 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 the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS Have with you. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions First Officer Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one 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 had 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 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, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. 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. To the Tribunes Masters o' the 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 offers to go away Nay, keep your place. First Senator Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS Sir, I hope My words disbench'd 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' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. 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 utter'd 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: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli 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 Re-quicken'd 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 call'd 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 kick'd at, And look'd 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 call'd for. First Senator Call Coriolanus. Officer He doth appear. Re-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 apart 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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. 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' the 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 block-head, 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 behavior. 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 every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All Content, content. Exeunt Citizens 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 roar'd and ran From the 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 CORIOLANUS Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. Re-enter two of the Citizens So, here comes a brace. Re-enter a third Citizen You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens Re-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 further. Both Citizens The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do. Re-enter three Citizens more Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd 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 Citizens Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Worthy voices! Re-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 the 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 summon'd 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 the 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 methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens 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 mock'd us when he begg'd 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 show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens 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 lesson'd, 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' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd 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 confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The 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' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] 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 the Capitol. All We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens 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 the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the 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 safe-guard 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 call'd 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' the 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 pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS Have I had children's voices? First Senator Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. 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 mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS Why, this was known before. BRUTUS Not to them all. CORIOLANUS Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS 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 paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd 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 tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS You speak o' the 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 here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the 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 learn'd, 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 frown 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 the other. COMINIUS Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the 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 nourish'd 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 That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson 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' the 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 barr'd, 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 the in 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 the 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' the dust. BRUTUS Manifest treason! SICINIUS This a consul? no. BRUTUS The aediles, ho! Enter an AEdile Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS Go, call the people: Exit AEdile in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS Hence, old goat! Senators, & C We'll surety him. COMINIUS Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS Help, ye citizens! Enter a rabble of Citizens (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! Citizens Down with him! down with him! Senators, & C Weapons, weapons, weapons! They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' '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 the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS Hear me, people; peace! Citizens Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 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? Citizens True, The people are the city. BRUTUS By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens 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' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS AEdiles, seize him! Citizens Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile Peace, peace! MENENIUS [To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately 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 No, I'll die here. Drawing his sword 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. COMINIUS Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens 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; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator Get you gone. COMINIUS Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS Sham 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: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd 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, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS Nay, come away. Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others A Patrician This man has marr'd 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! Second Patrician I would they were abed! MENENIUS I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble 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 nought. First Citizen He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens 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! Citizens 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 to-night. MENENIUS Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 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 dropp'd 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 the end o' the world. SICINIUS This is clean kam. BRUTUS Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 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 market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS I'll bring him to you. To the 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. A room in CORIOLANUS'S house. Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians CORIOLANUS Let them puff 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. A 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 show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS Let them hang. A Patrician Ay, and burn too. Enter MENENIUS and 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 counsell'd: 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o' the 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 the 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 unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 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 ask'd, 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. Here is Cominius. Enter COMINIUS COMINIUS I have been i' the market-place; 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 base tongue give 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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the 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 turn'd, Which quired 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 arm'd knees, Who bow'd 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 market-place; 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' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA Do your will. Exit 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. The same. 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 favour'd him. SICINIUS Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS Well, here he comes. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS, with Senators and Patricians MENENIUS Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd 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. Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens 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' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS Scratches with briers, 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 pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd 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 season'd 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' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd 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? Citizens To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, 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 banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the 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 not 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, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians AEdile The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! Shouting, and throwing 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. Citizens 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 extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd 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 conn'd them. VIRGILIA O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening 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 fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. 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' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS 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' the 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'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS Give me thy hand: Come. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street near the gate. Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile SICINIUS Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, 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. 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. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS VOLUMNIA O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the 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 BRUTUS Will you be gone? VIRGILIA [To SICINIUS] 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'ld 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 us 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 banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA Take my prayers with you. Exeunt Tribunes 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. MENENIUS Fie, fie, fie! Exeunt SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting 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 the 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 seem to wear one heart, Whose house, 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 birth-place 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. The same. A hall in Aufidius's house. Music within. Enter a Servingman First Servingman Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit Enter a second 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. Re-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. Re-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 thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him Third Servingman What fellow's this? First Servingman A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Retires 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 marvellous 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 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 dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS Under the canopy. Third Servingman Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS Ay. Third Servingman Where's that? CORIOLANUS I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Retires AUFIDIUS Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS If, Tullus, Unmuffling Not yet thou knowest 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 hast 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 Marcius, 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 devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd 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 fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest 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 follow'd 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 Marcius, Marcius! 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'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd 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 Sigh'd 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 fort: 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 Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the 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 The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two 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' the world. First Servingman I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. 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. Re-enter third Servingman Third Servingman O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman Second Servingman What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman Second Servingman Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 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 Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman But when goes this forward? Third Servingman To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a 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 spritely, waking, 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 SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with 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. Both Tribunes Hail sir! MENENIUS Hail to you both! SICINIUS Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, 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 Citizens The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was A worthy officer i' the 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 enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS Go see this rumourer whipp'd. 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 have 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 come 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 deliver'd. SICINIUS What more fearful? Messenger It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd 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 Marcius home again. SICINIUS The very trick on't. MENENIUS This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Enter a second Messenger Second Messenger You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd 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 Marcius should be join'd 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 up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS He will 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd 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 So incapable of help. Both 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' the 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 come 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. 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 Ye re 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 dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 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 us go. Exeunt SCENE VII. A camp, at a small distance from Rome. Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd 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 Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 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 the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To 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, and 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 call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd 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: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for 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 punish'd. MENENIUS Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS I offer'd 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 the 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 Marcius. MENENIUS Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 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 unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like 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 gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 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. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. Enter to them, MENENIUS First Senator Stay: whence are you? Second Senator 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 Senator From whence? MENENIUS From Rome. First Senator You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator 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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply 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 stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator 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 Senator 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, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS I am, as thy general is. First Senator 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 Senator Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS I mean, thy general. First Senator 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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone. 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 Gives a letter And would have rent 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. Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS First Senator Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye'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 Senator A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others CORIOLANUS We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd 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 a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd 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. Ha! what shout is this? Shout within Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 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 curt'sy 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.' 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 virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Kneels Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest! 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. Kneels CORIOLANUS What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 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 the 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' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld 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 To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; 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 nought 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS A' 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. Rising 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 show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 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 dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd 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; 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 bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 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 prevail'd, 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! 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. The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS CORIOLANUS Ay, by and by; To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, & c But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 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 corner-stone? 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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger SICINIUS What's the news? Second Messenger Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours 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 pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! Music still, with 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? Second Messenger Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS We will meet them, And help the joy. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate. Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, & c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others First 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 banish'd Marcius, 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' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; 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 enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Exeunt Attendants Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction Most welcome! First Conspirator How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd 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 banish'd 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd 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 enter'd 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 The 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? 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. AUFIDIUS He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him CORIOLANUS Hail, lords! I am return'd 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 Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS Marcius! AUFIDIUS Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd 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' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering 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 impress'd 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 dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 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 The People 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd 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' the 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! The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body 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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd 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 CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded The Life and Death of Julies Caesar Shakespeare homepage | Julius Caeser | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all the Commoners See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR Calpurnia! CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. CAESAR Calpurnia! CALPURNIA Here, my lord. CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. Antonius! ANTONY Caesar, my lord? CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Flourish Soothsayer Caesar! CAESAR Ha! who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face. CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I. CASSIUS I pray you, do. BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-- Among which number, Cassius, be you one-- Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. BRUTUS The games are done and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Re-enter CAESAR and his Train BRUTUS I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR Antonius! ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA CASCA You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day, That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting. BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too. CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too. BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony. BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound? CASCA He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. BRUTUS 'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness. CASSIUS No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS And after that, he came, thus sad, away? CASCA Ay. CASSIUS Did Cicero say any thing? CASCA Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS To what effect? CASCA Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the face again: but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. CASSIUS Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? CASCA No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS Will you dine with me to-morrow? CASCA Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS Good: I will expect you. CASCA Do so. Farewell, both. Exit BRUTUS What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you. CASSIUS I will do so: till then, think of the world. Exit BRUTUS Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus: If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit SCENE III. The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO CICERO Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? CASCA Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? CASCA A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 'These are their reasons; they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? CASCA He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. CICERO Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA Farewell, Cicero. Exit CICERO Enter CASSIUS CASSIUS Who's there? CASCA A Roman. CASSIUS Casca, by your voice. CASCA Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still CASCA So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. CASCA Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Enter CINNA Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS Am I not stay'd for? tell me. CINNA Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party-- CASSIUS Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit CINNA Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. BRUTUS's orchard. Enter BRUTUS BRUTUS What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS I will, my lord. Exit BRUTUS It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round. He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter BRUTUS Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS I know not, sir. BRUTUS Look in the calendar, and bring me word. LUCIUS I will, sir. Exit BRUTUS The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads 'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. 'Shall Rome, & c.' Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. Knocking within BRUTUS 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Exit LUCIUS Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS Is he alone? LUCIUS No, sir, there are moe with him. BRUTUS Do you know them? LUCIUS No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour. BRUTUS Let 'em enter. Exit LUCIUS They are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS CASSIUS I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? BRUTUS I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS He is welcome hither. CASSIUS This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS He is welcome too. CASSIUS This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS Shall I entreat a word? BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper DECIUS BRUTUS Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? CASCA No. CINNA O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,-- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA Let us not leave him out. CINNA No, by no means. METELLUS CIMBER O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS O, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. CASSIUS Then leave him out. CASCA Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS BRUTUS Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar-- BRUTUS Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company. TREBONIUS There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes BRUTUS Peace! count the clock. CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS Never fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? CINNA Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS CIMBER Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS Now, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but BRUTUS Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter PORTIA PORTIA Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart PORTIA If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Exit PORTIA Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS LUCIUS He is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? LIGARIUS Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. BRUTUS Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS Follow me, then. Exeunt SCENE II. CAESAR's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown CAESAR Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? Enter a Servant Servant My lord? CAESAR Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. Servant I will, my lord. Exit Enter CALPURNIA CALPURNIA What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. CAESAR Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he: We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible: And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house: And he shall say you are not well to-day: Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter DECIUS BRUTUS Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS BRUTUS Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. CAESAR And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA Say he is sick. CAESAR Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS BRUTUS Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR The cause is in my will: I will not come; That is enough to satisfy the senate. But for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know: Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS BRUTUS I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now: the senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 'Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'? Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS Good morrow, Caesar. CAESAR Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is 't o'clock? BRUTUS Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter ANTONY See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR Bid them prepare within: I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day: Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS Caesar, I will: Aside and so near will I be, That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. BRUTUS [Aside] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper ARTEMIDORUS 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, 'ARTEMIDORUS.' Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS. Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS PORTIA I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS To know my errand, madam. PORTIA I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? LUCIUS I hear none, madam. PORTIA Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer PORTIA Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been? Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA What is't o'clock? Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit PORTIA I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally ACT III SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others CAESAR [To the Soothsayer] The ides of March are come. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. ARTEMIDORUS Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. DECIUS BRUTUS Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. CAESAR What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following POPILIUS I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. CASSIUS What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS Fare you well. Advances to CAESAR BRUTUS What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him. CASSIUS Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS DECIUS BRUTUS Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS He is address'd: press near and second him. CINNA Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress? METELLUS CIMBER Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart,-- Kneeling CAESAR I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS CIMBER Is there no voice more worthy than my own To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR What, Brutus! CASSIUS Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CASSIUS I could be well moved, if I were as you: If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine, But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA O Caesar,-- CAESAR Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS BRUTUS Great Caesar,-- CAESAR Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA Speak, hands for me! CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR CAESAR Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar. Dies CINNA Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' BRUTUS People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. CASCA Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS BRUTUS And Cassius too. BRUTUS Where's Publius? CINNA Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS CIMBER Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance-- BRUTUS Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. CASSIUS And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS Do so: and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers. Re-enter TREBONIUS CASSIUS Where is Antony? TREBONIUS Fled to his house amazed: Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. CASSIUS Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!' CASSIUS Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS BRUTUS What, shall we forth? CASSIUS Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant BRUTUS Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Servant Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel: Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Servant I'll fetch him presently. Exit BRUTUS I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS I wish we may: but yet have I a mind That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. BRUTUS But here comes Antony. Re-enter ANTONY Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome-- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, To see thy thy Anthony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS Mark Antony,-- ANTONY Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS Brutus, a word with you. Aside to BRUTUS You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY Be it so. I do desire no more. BRUTUS Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but ANTONY ANTONY O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth-- O Caesar!-- Seeing the body ANTONY Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with CAESAR's body SCENE II. The Forum. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens Citizens We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. BRUTUS Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. King Lear Shakespeare homepage | King Lear | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. KENT Is not this your son, my lord? GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. KENT I cannot conceive you. GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? EDMUND No, my lord. GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. EDMUND My services to your lordship. KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better. EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving. GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,-- Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,-- Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. REGAN Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA Nothing, my lord. KING LEAR Nothing! CORDELIA Nothing. KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA Ay, good my lord. KING LEAR So young, and so untender? CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true. KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT Good my liege,-- KING LEAR Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown KENT Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,-- KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. KING LEAR Out of my sight! KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,-- KENT Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. KENT Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil. KING LEAR Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? BURGUNDY Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY I know no answer. KING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. KING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. KING LEAR Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. KING OF FRANCE Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. KING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. KING OF FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. KING LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA KING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. REGAN Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! KING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA GONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. REGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment. GONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let's hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN We shall further think on't. GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat. Exeunt SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Enter EDMUND, with a letter EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power! Confined to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news? EDMUND So please your lordship, none. Putting up the letter GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading? EDMUND Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see. EDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.' Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in?--When came this to you? who brought it? EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's? EDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER It is his. EDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he? EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER Think you so? EDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster-- EDMUND Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit EDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar-- Enter EDGAR And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR Do you busy yourself about that? EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last? EDGAR Why, the night gone by. EDMUND Spake you with him? EDGAR Ay, two hours together. EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? EDGAR None at all. EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the spied of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR Armed, brother! EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you: I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away. EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND I do serve you in this business. Exit EDGAR A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty My practises ride easy! I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit SCENE III. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. OSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him. Horns within GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he dislike it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be used With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you. OSWALD Well, madam. GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in the same. Enter KENT, disguised KENT If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants KING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant How now! what art thou? KENT A man, sir. KING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us? KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. KING LEAR What art thou? KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. KING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT Service. KING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve? KENT You. KING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. KING LEAR What's that? KENT Authority. KING LEAR What services canst thou do? KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. KING LEAR How old art thou? KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight. KING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant Enter OSWALD You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? OSWALD So please you,-- Exit KING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight How now! where's that mongrel? Knight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. KING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him. Knight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. KING LEAR He would not! Knight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter. KING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so? Knight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged. KING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Knight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. KING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant Re-enter OSWALD O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady's father. KING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. KING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him OSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord. KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels KING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes OSWALD out KING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. Giving KENT money Enter Fool Fool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. Offering KENT his cap KING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou? Fool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT Why, fool? Fool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! KING LEAR Why, my boy? Fool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. KING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip. Fool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. KING LEAR A pestilent gall to me! Fool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. KING LEAR Do. Fool Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. KENT This is nothing, fool. Fool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? KING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. KING LEAR A bitter fool! Fool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? KING LEAR No, lad; teach me. Fool That lord that counsell'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. KING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. KING LEAR What two crowns shall they be? Fool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Singing Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. KING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Singing Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. KING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o' the parings. Enter GONERIL KING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. Fool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To GONERIL Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. Pointing to KING LEAR That's a shealed peascod. GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. KING LEAR Are you our daughter? GONERIL Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. KING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool Lear's shadow. KING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool Which they will make an obedient father. KING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman? GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy: be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you. KING LEAR Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY KING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,-- To ALBANY O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient. KING LEAR [To GONERIL] Detested kite! thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, Striking his head And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you. KING LEAR It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter KING LEAR KING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALBANY What's the matter, sir? KING LEAR I'll tell thee: To GONERIL Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord? ALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,-- GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit GONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! ALBANY Well, you may fear too far. GONERIL Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit OSWALD No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness. ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GONERIL Nay, then-- ALBANY Well, well; the event. Exeunt SCENE V. Court before the same. Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool KING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit Fool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes? KING LEAR Ay, boy. Fool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. KING LEAR Ha, ha, ha! Fool Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. KING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face? KING LEAR No. Fool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. KING LEAR I did her wrong-- Fool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? KING LEAR No. Fool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. KING LEAR Why? Fool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. KING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? Fool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. KING LEAR Because they are not eight? Fool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. KING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! Fool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. KING LEAR How's that? Fool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. KING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Enter Gentleman How now! are the horses ready? Gentleman Ready, my lord. KING LEAR Come, boy. Fool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. GLOUCESTER's castle. Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him EDMUND Save thee, Curan. CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND Not I pray you, what are they? CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND Not a word. CURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit EDMUND The duke be here to-night? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! Enter EDGAR My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night: Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR I am sure on't, not a word. EDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell. Exit EDGAR Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion. Wounds his arm Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain? EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,-- GLOUCESTER But where is he? EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-- GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after. Exeunt some Servants By no means what? EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,-- As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce My very character,--I'ld turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.' GLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain Would he deny his letter? I never got him. Tucket within Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have the due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants CORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! REGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord. CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else. GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,-- REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice: Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. Exeunt SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT Ay. OSWALD Where may we set our horses? KENT I' the mire. OSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. KENT I love thee not. OSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD What dost thou know me for? KENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage | Macbeth | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls. Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you? First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate. First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence? MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean? MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't. Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane? MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming. MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us. MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever? First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition. from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome. Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies. Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men. Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg! Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Othello, the Moore of Venice Shakespeare homepage | Othello | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer.' And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient. RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. RODERIGO I would not follow him then. IAGO O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus! IAGO Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window BRABANTIO What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? RODERIGO Signior, is all your family within? IAGO Are your doors lock'd? BRABANTIO Why, wherefore ask you this? IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? BRABANTIO Not I what are you? RODERIGO My name is Roderigo. BRABANTIO The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,-- BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. RODERIGO Patience, good sir. BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou? IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. BRABANTIO Thou art a villain. IAGO You are--a senator. BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-- If this be known to you and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper! call up all my people! This accident is not unlike my dream: Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! Exit above IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall-- Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some cheque, Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. Exit Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers: Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? RODERIGO Truly, I think they are. BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed. BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me. BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. Exeunt SCENE II. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is. IAGO Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. OTHELLO Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,-- Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond? IAGO Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in. OTHELLO Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? IAGO By Janus, I think no. Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches OTHELLO The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? CASSIO The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. OTHELLO What is the matter, think you? CASSIO Something from Cyprus as I may divine: It is a business of some heat: the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels, And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several guests To search you out. OTHELLO 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Exit CASSIO Ancient, what makes he here? IAGO 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack: If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. CASSIO I do not understand. IAGO He's married. CASSIO To who? Re-enter OTHELLO IAGO Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go? OTHELLO Have with you. CASSIO Here comes another troop to seek for you. IAGO It is Brabantio. General, be advised; He comes to bad intent. Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with torches and weapons OTHELLO Holla! stand there! RODERIGO Signior, it is the Moor. BRABANTIO Down with him, thief! They draw on both sides IAGO You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. OTHELLO Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. BRABANTIO O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunned The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on; 'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. OTHELLO Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? BRABANTIO To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. OTHELLO What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him? First Officer 'Tis true, most worthy signior; The duke's in council and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. BRABANTIO How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. Exeunt SCENE III. A council-chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending DUKE OF VENICE There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. First Senator Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. DUKE OF VENICE And mine, a hundred and forty. Second Senator And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account,-- As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! First Officer A messenger from the galleys. Enter a Sailor DUKE OF VENICE Now, what's the business? Sailor The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo. DUKE OF VENICE How say you by this change? First Senator This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand, That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. First Officer Here is more news. Enter a Messenger Messenger The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Senator Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Messenger Of thirty sail: and now they do restem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. DUKE OF VENICE 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Senator He's now in Florence. DUKE OF VENICE Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. First Senator Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers DUKE OF VENICE Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. To BRABANTIO I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. BRABANTIO So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows And it is still itself. DUKE OF VENICE Why, what's the matter? BRABANTIO My daughter! O, my daughter! DUKE OF VENICE Senator Dead? BRABANTIO Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. DUKE OF VENICE Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. BRABANTIO Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. DUKE OF VENICE Senator We are very sorry for't. DUKE OF VENICE [To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this? BRABANTIO Nothing, but this is so. OTHELLO Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charged withal, I won his daughter. BRABANTIO A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature, and must be driven To find out practises of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. DUKE OF VENICE To vouch this, is no proof, Without more wider and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. First Senator But, Othello, speak: Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? OTHELLO I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. DUKE OF VENICE Fetch Desdemona hither. OTHELLO Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place. Exeunt IAGO and Attendants And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. DUKE OF VENICE Say it, Othello. OTHELLO Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven It was my hint to speak,--such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants DUKE OF VENICE I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. BRABANTIO I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress: Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience? DESDEMONA My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord. BRABANTIO God be wi' you! I have done. Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child: For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. DUKE OF VENICE Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. BRABANTIO So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears, But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. DUKE OF VENICE The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. OTHELLO The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife. Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. DUKE OF VENICE If you please, Be't at her father's. BRABANTIO I'll not have it so. OTHELLO Nor I. DESDEMONA Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. DUKE OF VENICE What would You, Desdemona? DESDEMONA That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him. OTHELLO Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat--the young affects In me defunct--and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! DUKE OF VENICE Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, And speed must answer it. First Senator You must away to-night. OTHELLO With all my heart. DUKE OF VENICE At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. OTHELLO So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me. DUKE OF VENICE Let it be so. Good night to every one. To BRABANTIO And, noble signior, If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Senator Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. BRABANTIO Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee. Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, & c OTHELLO My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her: And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA RODERIGO Iago,-- IAGO What say'st thou, noble heart? RODERIGO What will I do, thinkest thou? IAGO Why, go to bed, and sleep. RODERIGO I will incontinently drown myself. IAGO If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! RODERIGO It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. IAGO O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. RODERIGO What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. IAGO Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion. RODERIGO It cannot be. IAGO It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. RODERIGO Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? IAGO Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. RODERIGO Where shall we meet i' the morning? IAGO At my lodging. RODERIGO I'll be with thee betimes. IAGO Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? RODERIGO What say you? IAGO No more of drowning, do you hear? RODERIGO I am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Exit IAGO Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe. But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:-- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen MONTANO What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. MONTANO Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. MONTANO If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman Third Gentleman News, lads! our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. MONTANO How! is this true? Third Gentleman The ship is here put in, A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. MONTANO I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. MONTANO Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard. Third Gentleman Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO CASSIO Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea. MONTANO Is he well shipp'd? CASSIO His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Enter a fourth Gentleman CASSIO What noise? Fourth Gentleman The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' CASSIO My hopes do shape him for the governor. Guns heard Second Gentlemen They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. CASSIO I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Second Gentleman I shall. Exit MONTANO But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? CASSIO Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the ingener. Re-enter second Gentleman How now! who has put in? Second Gentleman 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. CASSIO Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands-- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,-- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. MONTANO What is she? CASSIO She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort! Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! DESDEMONA I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? CASSIO He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. DESDEMONA O, but I fear--How lost you company? CASSIO The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail. Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard Second Gentleman They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. CASSIO See for the news. Exit Gentleman Good ancient, you are welcome. To EMILIA Welcome, mistress. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her IAGO Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. DESDEMONA Alas, she has no speech. IAGO In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. EMILIA You have little cause to say so. IAGO Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. EMILIA You shall not write my praise. IAGO No, let me not. DESDEMONA What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? IAGO O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. DESDEMONA Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour? IAGO Ay, madam. DESDEMONA I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? IAGO I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. DESDEMONA Well praised! How if she be black and witty? IAGO If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. DESDEMONA Worse and worse. EMILIA How if fair and foolish? IAGO She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. DESDEMONA These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? IAGO There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. DESDEMONA O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? IAGO She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,-- DESDEMONA To do what? IAGO To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. DESDEMONA O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? CASSIO He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. IAGO [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! Trumpet within The Moor! I know his trumpet. CASSIO 'Tis truly so. DESDEMONA Let's meet him and receive him. CASSIO Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO O my fair warrior! DESDEMONA My dear Othello! OTHELLO It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. DESDEMONA The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! OTHELLO Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kissing her That e'er our hearts shall make! IAGO [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTHELLO Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, Once more, well met at Cyprus. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants IAGO Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them--list me. The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is directly in love with him. RODERIGO With him! why, 'tis not possible. IAGO Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most pregnant and unforced position--who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. RODERIGO I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. IAGO Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? RODERIGO Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. IAGO Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister. RODERIGO Well. IAGO Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. RODERIGO I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. IAGO I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. RODERIGO Adieu. Exit IAGO That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb-- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too-- Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. Exit SCENE II. A street. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt SCENE III. A hall in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants OTHELLO Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. CASSIO Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. OTHELLO Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. To DESDEMONA Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants Enter IAGO CASSIO Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. IAGO Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. CASSIO She's a most exquisite lady. IAGO And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. CASSIO Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. IAGO What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. CASSIO An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. IAGO And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? CASSIO She is indeed perfection. IAGO Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. CASSIO Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. IAGO O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. CASSIO I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. IAGO What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants desire it. CASSIO Where are they? IAGO Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. CASSIO I'll do't; but it dislikes me. Exit IAGO If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.--But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen; servants following with wine CASSIO 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. MONTANO Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. IAGO Some wine, ho! Sings And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! CASSIO 'Fore God, an excellent song. IAGO I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. CASSIO Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? IAGO Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. CASSIO To the health of our general! MONTANO I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. IAGO O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! CASSIO Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. IAGO Will you hear't again? CASSIO No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. IAGO It's true, good lieutenant. CASSIO For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,--I hope to be saved. IAGO And so do I too, lieutenant. CASSIO Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All Excellent well. CASSIO Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. Exit MONTANO To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. IAGO You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: and do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. MONTANO But is he often thus? IAGO 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. MONTANO It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true? Enter RODERIGO IAGO [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. Exit RODERIGO MONTANO And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say So to the Moor. IAGO Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise? Cry within: 'Help! help!' Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO CASSIO You rogue! you rascal! MONTANO What's the matter, lieutenant? CASSIO A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. RODERIGO Beat me! CASSIO Dost thou prate, rogue? Striking RODERIGO MONTANO Nay, good lieutenant; Staying him I pray you, sir, hold your hand. CASSIO Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. MONTANO Come, come, you're drunk. CASSIO Drunk! They fight IAGO [Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny. Exit RODERIGO Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;-- Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir; Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed! Bell rings Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! You will be shamed for ever. Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO What is the matter here? MONTANO 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death. Faints OTHELLO Hold, for your lives! IAGO Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,-- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! OTHELLO Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. IAGO I do not know: friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now-- As if some planet had unwitted men-- Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it! OTHELLO How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? CASSIO I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. OTHELLO Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. MONTANO Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,-- While I spare speech, which something now offends me,-- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us. OTHELLO Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: if I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't? MONTANO If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. IAGO Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help: And Cassio following him with determined sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out-- The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back-- For this was brief--I found them close together, At blow and thrust; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. OTHELLO I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. DESDEMONA What's the matter? OTHELLO All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. To MONTANO, who is led off Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO IAGO What, are you hurt, lieutenant? CASSIO Ay, past all surgery. IAGO Marry, heaven forbid! CASSIO Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! IAGO As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. CASSIO I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! IAGO What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? CASSIO I know not. IAGO Is't possible? CASSIO I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? CASSIO It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. IAGO Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. CASSIO I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. IAGO Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. CASSIO I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! IAGO You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. CASSIO You advise me well. IAGO I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. CASSIO I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here. IAGO You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago. Exit IAGO And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. Re-enter RODERIGO How now, Roderigo! RODERIGO I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. IAGO How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit RODERIGO Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit ACT III SCENE I. Before the castle. Enter CASSIO and some Musicians CASSIO Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.' Music Enter Clown Clown Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? First Musician How, sir, how! Clown Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? First Musician Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clown O, thereby hangs a tail. First Musician Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clown Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. First Musician Well, sir, we will not. Clown If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say to hear music the general does not greatly care. First Musician We have none such, sir. Clown Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: go; vanish into air; away! Exeunt Musicians CASSIO Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clown No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. CASSIO Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: wilt thou do this? Clown She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. CASSIO Do, good my friend. Exit Clown Enter IAGO In happy time, Iago. IAGO You have not been a-bed, then? CASSIO Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. IAGO I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. CASSIO I humbly thank you for't. Exit IAGO I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter EMILIA EMILIA Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again. CASSIO Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. EMILIA Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. CASSIO I am much bound to you. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen OTHELLO These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. IAGO Well, my good lord, I'll do't. OTHELLO This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt SCENE III. The garden of the castle. Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA DESDEMONA Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. EMILIA Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. DESDEMONA O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. CASSIO Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. DESDEMONA I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. DESDEMONA Do not doubt that; before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away. EMILIA Madam, here comes my lord. CASSIO Madam, I'll take my leave. DESDEMONA Why, stay, and hear me speak. CASSIO Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. DESDEMONA Well, do your discretion. Exit CASSIO Enter OTHELLO and IAGO IAGO Ha! I like not that. OTHELLO What dost thou say? IAGO Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what. OTHELLO Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO I do believe 'twas he. DESDEMONA How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO Who is't you mean? DESDEMONA Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO Went he hence now? DESDEMONA Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. DESDEMONA But shall't be shortly? OTHELLO The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA Shall't be to-night at supper? OTHELLO No, not to-night. DESDEMONA To-morrow dinner, then? OTHELLO I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason-- Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best--is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,-- OTHELLO Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. OTHELLO Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA OTHELLO Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO My noble lord-- OTHELLO What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? IAGO But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. OTHELLO Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO O, yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO Indeed! OTHELLO Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord! OTHELLO Honest! ay, honest. IAGO My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO What dost thou think? IAGO Think, my lord! OTHELLO Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO I think thou dost; And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just They are close delations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO I think so too. IAGO Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none! OTHELLO Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. OTHELLO Nay, yet there's more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO I do beseech you-- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO What dost thou mean? IAGO Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. IAGO You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. OTHELLO Ha! IAGO O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! OTHELLO O misery! IAGO Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO Why, why is this? Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this,-- Away at once with love or jealousy! IAGO I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Timon of Athens Shakespeare homepage | Timon of Athens | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors Poet Good day, sir. Painter I am glad you're well. Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Painter It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord. Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd. Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jeweller: I have a jewel here-- Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that-- Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Merchant 'Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Painter 'Tis a good piece. Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Painter Indifferent. Poet Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over Painter How this lord is follow'd! Poet The senators of Athens: happy man! Painter Look, more! Poet You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Painter How shall I understand you? Poet I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Painter I saw them speak together. Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Painter 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Painter Ay, marry, what of these? Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you? Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help: Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Messenger Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Messenger All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an old Athenian Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON Freely, good father. Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. TIMON I have so: what of him? Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service. Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON Well; what further? Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON The man is honest. Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON Does she love him? Old Athenian She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON How shall she be endow'd, if she be mated with an equal husband? Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Athenian Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may The state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; or since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work; And you shall find I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Painter The gods preserve ye! TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise? TIMON A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON Well mock'd. Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid? Enter APEMANTUS Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship. Merchant He'll spare none. TIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS Are they not Athenians? TIMON Yes. APEMANTUS Then I repent not. Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON Whither art going? APEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for. APEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. TIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS The best, for the innocence. TIMON Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Painter You're a dog. APEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS No; I eat not lords. TIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. APEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. TIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Poet How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS Thou liest. Poet Art not one? APEMANTUS Yes. Poet Then I lie not. APEMANTUS Art not a poet? Poet Yes. APEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet That's not feigned; he is so. APEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. TIMON What, thyself? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Wherefore? APEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? Merchant Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Merchant If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger TIMON What trumpet's that? Messenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! APEMANTUS So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except APEMANTUS Enter two Lords First Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Time to be honest. First Lord That time serves still. APEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it. Second Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast? APEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. Second Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. Second Lord Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. First Lord Hang thyself! APEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. Second Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence! APEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. Exit First Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. Second Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. First Lord The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. Second Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in? First Lord I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS. Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty. TIMON O, by no means, Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS A noble spirit! TIMON Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON Ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. They sit First Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not? TIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS No; You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. APEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. Second Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: This and my food are equals; there's no odds: Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. Apemantus' grace. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping: Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't: Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em! First Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we can our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Second Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Third Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much. APEMANTUS Much! Tucket, within TIMON What means that trump? Enter a Servant How now? Servant Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON Ladies! what are their wills? Servant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. TIMON I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid First Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved. Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life. As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto 't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for 't. First Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt Cupid and Ladies TIMON Flavius. FLAVIUS My lord? TIMON The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour; Aside Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should, When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit First Lord Where be our men? Servant Here, my lord, in readiness. Second Lord Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON O my friends, I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. First Lord I am so far already in your gifts,-- All So are we all. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. TIMON They are fairly welcome. FLAVIUS I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee: I prithee, let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter a Second Servant Second Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Enter a third Servant How now! what news? Third Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward. FLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer: Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word: he is so kind that he now Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. Second Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it. Third Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. Second Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call to you. All Lords O, none so welcome. TIMON I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord. First Lord We are so virtuously bound-- TIMON And so Am I to you. Second Lord So infinitely endear'd-- TIMON All to you. Lights, more lights! First Lord The best of happiness, Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. TIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and vain-glories? TIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then: I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Senator's house. Enter Senator, with papers in his hand Senator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure? Senator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when-- 'Commend me to your master'--and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger; Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS I go, sir. Senator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in contempt. CAPHIS I will, sir. Senator Go. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro CAPHIS Good even, Varro: what, You come for money? Varro's Servant Is't not your business too? CAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore? Isidore's Servant It is so. CAPHIS Would we were all discharged! Varro's Servant I fear it. CAPHIS Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, & c TIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? CAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON Go to my steward. CAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awaked by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON Mine honest friend, I prithee, but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS Nay, good my lord,-- TIMON Contain thyself, good friend. Varro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,-- Isidore's Servant From Isidore; He humbly prays your speedy payment. CAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-- Varro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past. Isidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords To FLAVIUS Come hither: pray you, How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS Pray, draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and Fool CAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. Varro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog! Varro's Servant How dost, fool? APEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Varro's Servant I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself. To the Fool Come away. Isidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet. CAPHIS Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! All Servants What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Asses. All Servants Why? APEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. Fool How do you, gentlemen? All Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress? Fool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS Good! gramercy. Enter Page Fool Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters: I know not which is which. APEMANTUS Canst not read? Page No. APEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. Page Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. Exit APEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. Fool Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? All Servants Ay; would they served us! APEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool Are you three usurers' men? All Servants Ay, fool. Fool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this? Varro's Servant I could render one. APEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Varro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Varro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. APEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus. All Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come. Fool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool FLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt Servants TIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? FLAVIUS You would not hear me, At many leisures I proposed. TIMON Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took. When my indispos ition put you back: And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time-- The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? TIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON You tell me true. FLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON Prithee, no more. FLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. TIMON Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants Servants My lord? my lord? TIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord. FLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! TIMON Go you, sir, to the senators-- Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS I have been bold-- For that I knew it the most general way-- To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON Is't true? can't be? FLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,-- But yet they could have wish'd--they know not-- Something hath been amiss--a noble nature May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;-- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence. TIMON You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. To a Servant Go to Ventidius. To FLAVIUS Prithee, be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. No blame belongs to thee. To Servant Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents. Exit Servant To FLAVIUS That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in Lucullus' house. FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him Servant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS Servant Here's my lord. LUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. Exit Servants And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS His health is well sir. LUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter Servant, with wine Servant Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee. To Servant Get you gone, sirrah. Exit Servant Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee! Throwing the money back LUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let moulten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel master's passion! this slave, Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place. Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers LUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. First Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money. Second Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. LUCILIUS How! Second Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man! there was very little honour showed in't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,-- To LUCIUS LUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-- LUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty five hundred talents. SERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir. LUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall. LUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit First Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius? Second Stranger Ay, too well. First Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse, Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. Third Stranger Religion groans at it. First Stranger For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Sempronius' house. Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's SEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these Owe their estates unto him. Servant My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have au denied him. SEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? hum! It shows but little love or judgment in him: Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like physicians, Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me? Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, But his occasion might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite its last? No: So it may prove an argument of laughter To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum, Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit Servant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out Varro's First Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS The like to you kind Varro. HORTENSIUS Lucius! What, do we meet together? Lucilius' Servant Ay, and I think One business does command us all; for mine Is money. TITUS So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS Lucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS Good day at once. Lucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? PHILOTUS Labouring for nine. Lucilius' Servant So much? PHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet? Lucilius' Servant Not yet. PHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. PHILOTUS I am of your fear for that. TITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS Most true, he does. TITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS It is against my heart. Lucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. Varro's First Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Lucilius' Servant Five thousand mine. Varro's First Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS. TITUS One of Lord Timon's men. Lucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not. TITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. FLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled Lucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. TITUS Do you hear, sir? Varro's Second Servant By your leave, sir,-- FLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly: Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. Exit Varro's First Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter? Varro's Second Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS Good gods! TITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Lucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus. TITUS My lord, here is my bill. Lucilius' Servant Here's mine. HORTENSIUS And mine, my lord. Both Varro's Servants And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS All our bills. TIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle. Lucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,- TIMON Cut my heart in sums. TITUS Mine, fifty talents. TIMON Tell out my blood. Lucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON Five thousand drops pays that. What yours?--and yours? Varro's First Servant My lord,-- Varro's Second Servant My lord,-- TIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? devils! FLAVIUS My dear lord,-- TIMON What if it should be so? FLAVIUS My lord,-- TIMON I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS Here, my lord. TIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: All, sirrah, all: I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting. First Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. Second Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants ALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! First Senator Now, captain? ALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument. First Senator You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES My lord,-- First Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? sleep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it, And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. Second Senator You breathe in vain. ALCIBIADES In vain! his service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life. First Senator What's that? ALCIBIADES I say, my lords, he has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! Second Senator He has made too much plenty with 'em; He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us, His days are foul and his drink dangerous. First Senator He dies. ALCIBIADES Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him-- Though his right arm might purchase his own time And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore For law is strict, and war is nothing more. First Senator We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. ALCIBIADES Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me. Second Senator How! ALCIBIADES Call me to your remembrances. Third Senator What! ALCIBIADES I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be, I should prove so base, To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you. First Senator Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever. ALCIBIADES Banish me! Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. First Senator If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt Senators ALCIBIADES Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit SCENE VI. The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at several doors First Lord The good time of day to you, sir. Second Lord I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. First Lord Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered: I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. Second Lord It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. First Lord I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. Second Lord In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. First Lord I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. Second Lord Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you? First Lord A thousand pieces. Second Lord A thousand pieces! First Lord What of you? Second Lord He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes. Enter TIMON and Attendants TIMON With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you? First Lord Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. Second Lord The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently. First Lord I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you an empty messenger. TIMON O, sir, let it not trouble you. Second Lord My noble lord,-- TIMON Ah, my good friend, what cheer? Second Lord My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. TIMON Think not on 't, sir. Second Lord If you had sent but two hours before,-- TIMON Let it not cumber your better remembrance. The banquet brought in Come, bring in all together. Second Lord All covered dishes! First Lord Royal cheer, I warrant you. Third Lord Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. First Lord How do you? What's the news? Third Lord Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it? First Lord Second Lord Alcibiades banished! Third Lord 'Tis so, be sure of it. First Lord How! how! Second Lord I pray you, upon what? TIMON My worthy friends, will you draw near? Third Lord I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. Second Lord This is the old man still. Third Lord Will 't hold? will 't hold? Second Lord It does: but time will--and so-- Third Lord I do conceive. TIMON Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people--what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of warm water Some Speak What does his lordship mean? Some Others I know not. TIMON May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces Your reeking villany. Throwing the water in their faces Live loathed and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Soft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;-- Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Re-enter the Lords, Senators, & c First Lord How now, my lords! Second Lord Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? Third Lord Push! did you see my cap? Fourth Lord I have lost my gown. First Lord He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel? Third Lord Did you see my cap? Second Lord Here 'tis. Fourth Lord Here lies my gown. First Lord Let's make no stay. Second Lord Lord Timon's mad. Third Lord I feel 't upon my bones. Fourth Lord One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens. Enter TIMON TIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity, Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all-- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants First Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? FLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. First Servant Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! Second Servant As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants FLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house. Third Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Servants embrace, and part several ways O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out: I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore. Enter TIMON, from the cave O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! Digging Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. March afar off Ha! a drum ? Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. Keeping some gold Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak. TIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? TIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubim look. PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off! TIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon? TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? TIMON Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA Yes. TIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-- TIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. TIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,-- TIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES Why me, Timon? TIMON That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? TIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd, No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face, A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Well, more gold: what then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. TIMON Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold: Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES I never did thee harm. TIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me. ALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm? TIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike! Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA TIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Digging Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!-- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter APEMANTUS More man? plague, plague! APEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. TIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself. APEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find-- TIMON A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS Why? TIMON Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS To vex thee. TIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON What! a knave too? APEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. TIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS Art thou proud yet? TIMON Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root APEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast. Offering him a root TIMON First mend my company, take away thyself. APEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. TIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; if not, I would it were. APEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS Here is no use for gold. TIMON The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon? TIMON Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind! APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. TIMON On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar? TIMON Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? APEMANTUS Myself. TIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS Ay, Timon. TIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON If I name thee. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. APEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Throws a stone at him APEMANTUS Beast! TIMON Slave! APEMANTUS Toad! TIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon 't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. To the gold O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON Throng'd to! APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery. TIMON Long live so, and so die. Exit APEMANTUS I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Banditti First Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. Second Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. Third Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? Second Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. First Bandit Is not this he? Banditti Where? Second Bandit 'Tis his description. Third Bandit He; I know him. Banditti Save thee, Timon. TIMON Now, thieves? Banditti Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON Both too; and women's sons. Banditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? First Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery. The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. Third Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. First Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. Second Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. First Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt Banditti Enter FLAVIUS FLAVIUS O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON Away! what art thou? FLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. TIMON If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave ACT V SCENE I. The woods. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching them from his cave Painter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? Painter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Painter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having. Poet What have you now to present unto him? Painter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Painter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. TIMON comes from his cave, behind TIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Painter True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. Coming forward Poet Hail, worthy Timon! Painter Our late noble master! TIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Painter He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON Ay, you are honest men. Painter We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Painter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Painter So, so, my lord. TIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Both Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON You'll take it ill. Both Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON Will you, indeed? Both Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both Do we, my lord? TIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he's a made-up villain. Painter I know none such, my lord. Poet Nor I. TIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. Both Name them, my lord, let's know them. TIMON You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves: To Painter You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence! To Poet You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators FLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. First Senator Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon. Second Senator At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. TIMON comes from his cave TIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! First Senator Worthy Timon,-- TIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. First Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. First Senator O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. Second Senator They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. First Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. Second Senator And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens. First Senator Therefore, Timon,-- TIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! First Senator We speak in vain. TIMON But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. First Senator That's well spoke. TIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- First Senator These words become your lips as they pass thorough them. Second Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. First Senator I like this well; he will return again. TIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. FLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. Retires to his cave First Senator His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. Second Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. First Senator It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens. Enter two Senators and a Messenger First Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files As full as thy report? Messenger have spoke the least: Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. Second Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Messenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; Whom, though in general part we were opposed, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends: this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' the cause against your city, In part for his sake moved. First Senator Here come our brothers. Enter the Senators from TIMON Third Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON Soldier By all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: Our captain hath in every figure skill, An aged interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers ALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. First Senator Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. Second Senator So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. First Senator These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them. Second Senator Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. First Senator All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. Second Senator What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. First Senator Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. Second Senator Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon's and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. Both 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates Enter Soldier Soldier My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt Titus Andronicus Shakespeare homepage | Titus Andronicus | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol. The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side, SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit'd home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause. Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol Enter a Captain Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. The tomb is opened There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes; re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS ANDRONICUS Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS ANDRONICUS Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS ANDRONICUS People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS ANDRONICUS Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!' MARCUS ANDRONICUS With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' A long flourish till they come down SATURNINUS Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS ANDRONICUS It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record, and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS ANDRONICUS [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? LAVINIA Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show BASSIANUS Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Seizing LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS ANDRONICUS 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! SATURNINUS Surprised! by whom? BASSIANUS By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS My lord, you pass not here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome? Stabbing MUTIUS MUTIUS Help, Lucius, help! Dies During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. LUCIUS Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promised love. Exit SATURNINUS No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS ANDRONICUS O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me. TAMORA And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS ANDRONICUS I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS ANDRONICUS No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! LUCIUS But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren. QUINTUS MARTIUS And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS ANDRONICUS 'And shall!' what villain was it that spake that word? QUINTUS He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS ANDRONICUS No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS ANDRONICUS Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel MARCUS ANDRONICUS Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,-- QUINTUS Father, and in that name doth nature speak,-- TITUS ANDRONICUS Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-- LUCIUS Dear father, soul and substance of us all,-- MARCUS ANDRONICUS Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS ANDRONICUS Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. MUTIUS is put into the tomb LUCIUS There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. All [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? TITUS ANDRONICUS I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others SATURNINUS So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. SATURNINUS Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine! TAMORA My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS What, madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Aside to SATURNINUS be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life, And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. Aloud Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. TITUS ANDRONICUS I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. LUCIUS We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS ANDRONICUS That, on mine honour, here I do protest. SATURNINUS Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS ANDRONICUS To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour. SATURNINUS Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON AARON Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora: Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Holloa! what storm is this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving DEMETRIUS Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am graced; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. CHIRON Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON [Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? They draw AARON [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS Not I, till I have sheathed My rapier in his bosom and withal Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. CHIRON For that I am prepared and full resolved. Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing darest perform! AARON Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. AARON Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON To achieve her! how? DEMETRIUS Why makest thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tired with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? would it offend you, then That both should speed? CHIRON Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS Nor me, so I were one. AARON For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar: 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, DEMETRIUS Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, & c., MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant and the woods are green: Uncouple here and let us make a bay And wake the emperor and his lovely bride And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good: I promised your grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS And you have rung it lustily, my lord; Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA I say, no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. To TAMORA Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS ANDRONICUS I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS ANDRONICUS And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest. Enter AARON, with a bag of gold AARON He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest Hides the gold That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter TAMORA TAMORA My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. TAMORA Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA BASSIANUS Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA Under your patience, gentle empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS The king my brother shall have note of this. LAVINIA Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON DEMETRIUS How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS This is a witness that I am thy son. Stabs BASSIANUS CHIRON And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies LAVINIA Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,-- TAMORA I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: To CHIRON Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. CHIRON What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall-- CHIRON Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r. Exit Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. Falls into the pit QUINTUS What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee. Falls in Enter SATURNINUS with AARON SATURNINUS Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. MARTIUS We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and Lucius TAMORA Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. She giveth SATURNINUS a letter SATURNINUS [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS ANDRONICUS High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,-- SATURNINUS If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS ANDRONICUS I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS ANDRONICUS Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Enter MARCUS MARCUS Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast! Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee O, could our mourning ease thy misery! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading TITUS ANDRONICUS Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS O noble father, you lament in vain: The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,-- LUCIUS My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Rises But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS ANDRONICUS O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS ANDRONICUS Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARCUS ANDRONICUS This was thy daughter. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS ANDRONICUS Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camest, And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use: Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. LUCIUS Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS ANDRONICUS It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me: what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears: Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead: and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt SCENE II. A street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant CAPULET But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO For what, I pray thee? ROMEO For your broken shin. BENVOLIO Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO Stay, fellow; I can read. Reads 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET JULIET How now! who calls? Nurse Your mother. JULIET Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days. Nurse Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO Strike, drum. Exeunt SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant Ay, boy, ready. First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Exit ROMEO [To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET You kiss by the book. Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO What is her mother? Nurse Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse I know not. JULIET Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO BENVOLIO Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JULIET appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO What shall I swear by? JULIET Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. Nurse calls within I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Exit, above ROMEO O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO So thrive my soul-- JULIET A thousand times good night! Exit, above ROMEO A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET Romeo! ROMEO My dear? JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO At the hour of nine. JULIET I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO I would I were thy bird. JULIET Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit above ROMEO Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO The what? MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO Pink for flower. MERCUTIO Right. ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse You say well. MERCUTIO Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO What hast thou found? MERCUTIO No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing 'lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO Go to; I say you shall. Nurse This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO Commend me to thy lady. Nurse Ay, a thousand times. Exit Romeo Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! Enter Nurse and PETER O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A public place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants BENVOLIO I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO And what to? MERCUTIO Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others TYBALT Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT I am for you. Drawing ROMEO Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO Come, sir, your passado. They fight ROMEO Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers MERCUTIO I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. Exit Page ROMEO Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO ROMEO This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! Re-enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Re-enter TYBALT Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO This shall determine that. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others PRINCE Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Enter Nurse, with cords Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down JULIET Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET Can heaven be so envious? Nurse Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Knocking within FRIAR LAURENCE Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Knocking FRIAR LAURENCE Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Knocking Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCE Welcome, then. Enter Nurse Nurse O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO Nurse! Nurse Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Drawing his sword FRIAR LAURENCE Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit ROMEO How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. He goeth down JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIET Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET What villain madam? LADY CAPULET That same villain, Romeo. JULIET [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULET That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse I speak no treason. CAPULET O, God ye god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit JULIET Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit ACT IV SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS FRIAR LAURENCE On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET PARIS Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE That's a certain text. PARIS Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Exeunt SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second Servant Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET Go, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Enter JULIET CAPULET How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. Exeunt JULIET and Nurse LADY CAPULET We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. Exeunt SCENE III. Juliet's chamber. Enter JULIET and Nurse JULIET Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse JULIET Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. Laying down her dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter CAPULET CAPULET Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. Exit CAPULET Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Music within Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Re-enter Nurse Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Exeunt SCENE V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What noise is here? Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET What is the matter? Nurse Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. Enter CAPULET CAPULET For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET O woful time! CAPULET Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter PETER PETER Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER You will not, then? First Musician No. PETER I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. Exeunt SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR JOHN FRIAR JOHN Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Exit SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch PARIS Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. Retires PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The Page whistles The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. Retires Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c ROMEO Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! They fight PAGE O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. Exit PARIS O, I am slain! Falls If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. Dies ROMEO In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! Drinks O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Dies Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo! Advances Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Enters the tomb Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET wakes JULIET O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? Noise within FRIAR LAURENCE I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, Noise again I dare no longer stay. JULIET Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Kisses him Thy lips are warm. First Watchman [Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIET Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! Snatching ROMEO's dagger This is thy sheath; Stabs herself there rust, and let me die. Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS PAGE This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR Second Watchman Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE Third Watchman Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman A great suspicion: stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants PRINCE What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others CAPULET What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra Shakespeare homepage | Antony and Cleopatra | Entire play 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 glow'd 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, 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. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome. MARK 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.' MARK 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! MARK 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; when such a mutual pair Embracing 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. MARK ANTONY But stirr'd 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. MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing 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 To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Another room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the 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. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony. CHARMIAN Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOPATRA CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord? DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam? CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches. CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us. Exeunt Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius? Messenger Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. MARK ANTONY Well, what worst? Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller. MARK 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 flatter'd. 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-- MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,-- Messenger O, my lord! MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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 MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one? Second Attendant He stays upon your will. MARK ANTONY Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger What are you? Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead. MARK ANTONY Where died she? Second Messenger In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. Gives a letter MARK ANTONY Forbear me. Exit Second Messenger There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt 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! Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's your pleasure, sir? MARK ANTONY I must with haste from hence. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY I must be gone. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY She is cunning past man's thought. Exit ALEXAS DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Would I had never seen her. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Sir? MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Fulvia! MARK ANTONY Dead. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I shall do't. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Another room. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS 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 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 MARK ANTONY CLEOPATRA I am sick and sullen. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Now, my dearest queen,-- CLEOPATRA Pray you, stand further from me. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The gods best know,-- CLEOPATRA O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd! yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. MARK 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! MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar. MARK ANTONY How now, lady! CLEOPATRA I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. MARK 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 condemn'd 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? MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war As thou affect'st. CLEOPATRA Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well, So Antony loves. MARK 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 Life perfect honour. MARK ANTONY You'll heat my blood: no more. CLEOPATRA You can do better yet; but this is meetly. MARK 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. MARK 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. MARK 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 strew'd before your feet! MARK ANTONY Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away! Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, and their Train OCTAVIUS 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 man-like 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 enow 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he which is was wish'd until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not. LEPIDUS 'Tis pity of him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. LEPIDUS To-morrow, Caesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest? 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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR 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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. CLEOPATRA What, was he sad or merry? ALEXAS Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness! 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 further travel. POMPEY I could have given less matter A better ear. Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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. The house of LEPIDUS. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS LEPIDUS Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. DOMITIUS 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 to-day. LEPIDUS 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in't. LEPIDUS But small to greater matters must give way. DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And yonder, Caesar. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA MARK ANTONY If we compose well here, to Parthia: Hark, Ventidius. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I do not know, Mecaenas; 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 the matter. MARK ANTONY 'Tis spoken well. Were we before our armies, and to fight. I should do thus. Flourish OCTAVIUS CAESAR Welcome to Rome. MARK ANTONY Thank you. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Sit. MARK ANTONY Sit, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, then. MARK ANTONY I learn, you take things ill which are not so, Or being, concern you not. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing or a little, I Should say myself offended, and with you Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. MARK ANTONY My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY How intend you, practised? OCTAVIUS CAESAR You may be pleased to catch at mine intent By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Sir, He fell upon me ere admitted: then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. LEPIDUS Soft, Caesar! MARK ANTONY No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. OCTAVIUS CAESAR To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. MARK ANTONY Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd 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. MECAENAS 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, Mecaenas. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. MARK ANTONY You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Go to, then; your considerate stone. OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. AGRIPPA Give me leave, Caesar,-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR Speak, Agrippa. AGRIPPA Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Will Caesar speak? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. MARK ANTONY What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' To make this good? OCTAVIUS CAESAR The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. MARK 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR There is 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! MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Where lies he? OCTAVIUS CAESAR About the mount Misenum. MARK ANTONY What is his strength by land? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Great and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. MARK 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 talk'd of. OCTAVIUS CAESAR With most gladness: And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I'll lead you. MARK ANTONY Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. LEPIDUS Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, and LEPIDUS MECAENAS Welcome from Egypt, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! AGRIPPA Good Enobarbus! MECAENAS We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. MECAENAS Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is this true? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. MECAENAS She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. AGRIPPA O, rare for Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. AGRIPPA Rare Egyptian! DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd. DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth. MECAENAS Now Antony must leave her utterly. DOMITIUS 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. MECAENAS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them, and Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady. Good night, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Good night. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA Enter Soothsayer MARK ANTONY Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt? Soothsayer Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! MARK 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. MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore Make space enough between you. MARK 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. MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, I' the 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. The same. A street. Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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. MECAENAS 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. MECAENAS AGRIPPA Sir, good success! LEPIDUS Farewell. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attendants The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN 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 play'd As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? MARDIAN As well as I can, madam. CLEOPATRA And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd 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 a Messenger O, from Italy Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Messenger Madam, madam,-- CLEOPATRA Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Messenger First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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 Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence, Strikes him again 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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering 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. Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger 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. Bid you Alexas To MARDIAN 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, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS, with Soldiers marching POMPEY Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most meet That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Take your time. MARK 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'er-count thee. POMPEY At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR There's the point. MARK ANTONY Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embraced. OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targes undinted. OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY 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. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; For I have gain'd by 't. OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us. OCTAVIUS CAESAR That's the next to do. POMPEY We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's Draw lots who shall begin. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY You have heard much. POMPEY I have fair meanings, sir. MARK ANTONY And fair words to them. POMPEY Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-- DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No more of that: he did so. POMPEY What, I pray you? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. POMPEY I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier? DOMITIUS 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 behavior. DOMITIUS 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY LEPIDUS Show us the way, sir. POMPEY Come. Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS MENAS [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS At sea, I think. MENAS We have, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS You have done well by water. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But there is never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS No slander; they steal hearts. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again. MENAS You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar's sister is called Octavia. MENAS True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS Pray ye, sir? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Tis true. MENAS Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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? DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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, off Misenum. Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink. First Servant But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. Second Servant Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains MARK ANTONY [To OCTAVIUS CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know, By the 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. MARK ANTONY Ay, Lepidus. LEPIDUS Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. MARK 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. DOMITIUS 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 [Aside to POMPEY] 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? MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. LEPIDUS What colour is it of? MARK ANTONY Of it own colour too. LEPIDUS 'Tis a strange serpent. MARK ANTONY 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Will this description satisfy him? MARK 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 call'd 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. The matter? Rises, and walks aside 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. MARK ANTONY These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. MENAS Wilt thou be lord of all the world? POMPEY What say'st thou? MENAS Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY How should that be? MENAS But entertain it, And, though thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. POMPEY Hast thou drunk well? MENAS Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove: Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine. POMPEY Ah, this thou shouldst have done, And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany; 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 pall'd fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. POMPEY This health to Lepidus! MARK ANTONY Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Here's to thee, Menas! MENAS Enobarbus, welcome! POMPEY Fill till the cup be hid. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS There's a strong fellow, Menas. Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS MENAS Why? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all, That it might go on wheels! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Drink thou; increase the reels. MENAS Come. POMPEY This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. MARK ANTONY It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho? Here is to Caesar! OCTAVIUS CAESAR I could well forbear't. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. MARK ANTONY Be a child o' the time. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Possess it, I'll make answer: But I had rather fast from all four days Than drink so much in one. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ha, my brave emperor! To MARK ANTONY Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? POMPEY Let's ha't, good soldier. MARK ANTONY Come, let's all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand THE SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round! OCTAVIUS 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 Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY I'll try you on the shore. MARK 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS 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 hang'd, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ho! says a' There's my cap. MENAS Ho! 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 the minute, lost his favour. Who does i' the 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' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS at another AGRIPPA What, are the brothers parted? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness. AGRIPPA 'Tis a noble Lepidus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar! AGRIPPA Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. AGRIPPA What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil! AGRIPPA O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further. AGRIPPA Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony: Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho! His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. AGRIPPA Both he loves. DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY No further, sir. OCTAVIUS 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 band 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 cherish'd. MARK ANTONY Make me not offended In your distrust. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have said. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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! MARK 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-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR What, Octavia? OCTAVIA I'll tell you in your ear. MARK 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 full of tide, And neither way inclines. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in 's face. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring; and he wept When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound he wail'd, Believe't, till I wept too. OCTAVIUS CAESAR No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Adieu; be happy! LEPIDUS Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Farewell, fa rewell! Kisses OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt SCENE III. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Where is the fellow? ALEXAS Half afeard to come. CLEOPATRA Go to, go to. Enter the 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 look'd 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 MARK ANTONY's house. Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA MARK 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 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. MARK 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 mean time, 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. MARK 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. The same. Another room. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How now, friend Eros! EROS There's strange news come, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What, man? EROS Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Our great navy's rigg'd. EROS For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Twill be naught: But let it be. Bring me to Antony. EROS Come, sir. Exeunt SCENE VI. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS OCTAVIUS CAESAR Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more, In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't: I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 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. MECAENAS This in the public eye? OCTAVIUS CAESAR I' the common show-place, where they exercise. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings: Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia. He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, As 'tis reported, so. MECAENAS Let Rome be thus Inform'd. AGRIPPA Who, queasy with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR The people know it; and have now received His accusations. AGRIPPA Who does he accuse? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Caesar: and that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him His part o' the 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 answer'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR 'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I Demand the like. MECAENAS He'll never yield to that. OCTAVIUS 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway! OCTAVIA You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. OCTAVIA Do not say so, my lord. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have eyes upon him, And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? OCTAVIA My lord, in Athens. OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; King Malchus 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 do afflict each other! OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. AGRIPPA Welcome, lady. MECAENAS Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you, Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister! Exeunt SCENE VII. Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp. Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS CLEOPATRA I will be even with thee, doubt it not. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But why, why, why? CLEOPATRA Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, And say'st it is not fit. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Well, is it, is it? CLEOPATRA If not denounced against us, why should not we Be there in person? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 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? DOMITIUS 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' the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will Appear there for a man. Speak not against it: I will not stay behind. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Nay, I have done. Here comes the emperor. Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK ANTONY For that he dares us to't. DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off; And so should you. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Your ships are not well mann'd; Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people Ingross'd 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. MARK ANTONY By sea, by sea. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth most consist Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, From firm security. MARK ANTONY I'll fight at sea. CLEOPATRA I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. MARK ANTONY Our overplus of shipping will we burn; And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium Beat the 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. MARK ANTONY Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange that 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 the Egyptians And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. MARK ANTONY Well, well: away! Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Soldier By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching OCTAVIUS CAESAR Taurus! TAURUS My lord? OCTAVIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 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 marcheth with his land army one way over the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer: The 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's thy passion! SCARUS The greater cantle of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How appears the fight? SCARUS On our side like the token'd pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,-- Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight, When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That I beheld: Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not Endure a further view. SCARUS She once being loof'd, 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. DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt SCENE XI. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS following 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! MARK ANTONY No, no, no, no, no. EROS See you here, sir? MARK ANTONY O fie, fie, fie! CHARMIAN Madam! IRAS Madam, O good empress! EROS Sir, sir,-- MARK 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 practise 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 him: O! EROS Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches: Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but Your comfort makes the rescue. MARK ANTONY I have offended reputation, A most unnoble swerving. EROS Sir, the queen. MARK 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 'Stroy'd in dishonour. CLEOPATRA O my lord, my lord, Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought You would have follow'd. MARK ANTONY Egypt, thou knew'st too well My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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! MARK 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' the world play'd 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! MARK 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. Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him appear that's come from Antony. Know you him? DOLABELLA Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion off his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by. Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Approach, and speak. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Be't so: declare thine office. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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. EUPHRONIUS Fortune pursue thee! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS To THYREUS 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, Thyreus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. THYREUS Caesar, I go. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. THYREUS Caesar, I shall. Exeunt SCENE XIII. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS CLEOPATRA What shall we do, Enobarbus? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Think, and die. CLEOPATRA Is Antony or we in fault for this? DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: 'twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. CLEOPATRA Prithee, peace. Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador MARK ANTONY Is that his answer? EUPHRONIUS Ay, my lord. MARK ANTONY The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up. EUPHRONIUS He says so. MARK 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? MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant Attendant A messenger from CAESAR. CLEOPATRA What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit Attendant DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i' the story. Enter THYREUS CLEOPATRA Caesar's will? THYREUS Hear it apart. CLEOPATRA None but friends: say boldly. THYREUS So, haply, are they friends to Antony. DOMITIUS 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. THYREUS So. Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Caesar. CLEOPATRA Go on: right royal. THYREUS He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. CLEOPATRA O! THYREUS 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 conquer'd merely. DOMITIUS 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 THYREUS 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 shrowd, The universal landlord. CLEOPATRA What's your name? THYREUS My name is Thyreus. CLEOPATRA Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering 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. THYREUS '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, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? THYREUS One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] You will be whipp'd. MARK 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 Attendants Take hence this Jack, and whip him. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. MARK 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. THYREUS Mark Antony! MARK ANTONY Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,-- MARK ANTONY You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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? MARK ANTONY I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd 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? MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him. Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS Is he whipp'd? First Attendant Soundly, my lord. MARK ANTONY Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? First Attendant He did ask favour. MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone! Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA Have you done yet? MARK ANTONY Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! CLEOPATRA I must stay his time. MARK ANTONY To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? CLEOPATRA Not know me yet? MARK 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! MARK ANTONY I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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! MARK ANTONY I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. MARK ANTONY We will yet do well. CLEOPATRA Call all his noble captains to my lord. MARK ANTONY Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter OCTAVIUS CAESAR He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp'd 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. MECAENAS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt SCENE II. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others MARK ANTONY He will not fight with me, Domitius. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No. MARK ANTONY Why should he not? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. MARK ANTONY To-morrow, 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? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' MARK ANTONY Well said; come on. Call forth my household servants: let's to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Enter three or four Servitors Give me thy hand, Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots Out of the mind. MARK ANTONY And thou art honest too. I wish I could be made so many men, And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony, that I might do you service So good as you have done. All The gods forbid! MARK ANTONY Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me As when mine empire was your fellow too, And suffer'd my command. CLEOPATRA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. MARK ANTONY Tend me to-night; May be it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 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 to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! DOMITIUS 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. MARK 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 to-morrow; 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. The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers to their guard First Soldier Brother, good night: to-morrow 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 Fourth Soldier Here we: and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. Third Soldier 'Tis a brave army, And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage Fourth Soldier Peace! what noise? First Soldier List, list! Second Soldier Hark! First Soldier Music i' the 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 [Speaking together] 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. The same. A room in the palace. Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and others attending MARK ANTONY Eros! mine armour, Eros! CLEOPATRA Sleep a little. MARK ANTONY No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter EROS with armour Come good fellow, put mine iron on: If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her: come. CLEOPATRA Nay, I'll help too. What's this for? MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou shouldst see A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier 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. Soldier A thousand, sir, Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish Enter Captains and Soldiers Captain The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. All Good morrow, general. MARK 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: rebukeable Kisses her And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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. Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp. Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a Soldier meeting them Soldier The gods make this a happy day to Antony! MARK ANTONY Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd 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 Follow'd thy heels. MARK 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.' MARK ANTONY What say'st thou? Soldier Sir, He is with Caesar. EROS Sir, his chests and treasure He has not with him. MARK ANTONY Is he gone? Soldier Most certain. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is Antony be took alive; Make it so known. AGRIPPA Caesar, I shall. Exit OCTAVIUS CAESAR The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger Messenger Antony Is come into the field. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains Caesar hath hang'd 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. DOMITIUS 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 DOMITIUS 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 MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Thou bleed'st apace. SCARUS I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY I will reward thee Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. SCARUS I'll halt after. Exeunt SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS, with others MARK ANTONY We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole. To SCARUS Give me thy hand Enter CLEOPATRA, attended To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee. To CLEOPATRA O thou day o' the world, Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? MARK ANTONY My 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 to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. CLEOPATRA I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. MARK ANTONY He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach. Exeunt SCENE IX. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Sentinels at their post First Soldier If we be not relieved within this hour, We must return to the court of guard: the night Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. Second Soldier This last day was A shrewd one to's. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS O, bear me witness, night,-- Third Soldier What man is this? Second Soldier Stand close, and list him. DOMITIUS 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! First Soldier Enobarbus! Third Soldier Peace! Hark further. DOMITIUS 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 Second Soldier Let's speak To him. First Soldier Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Third Soldier Let's do so. But he sleeps. First Soldier Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Second Soldier Go we to him. Third Soldier Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Second Soldier Hear you, sir? First Soldier The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Third Soldier Come on, then; He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body SCENE X. Between the two camps. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army MARK ANTONY Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. SCARUS For both, my lord. MARK ANTONY I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld 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 same. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army OCTAVIUS 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 same. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS MARK ANTONY Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers 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. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight Re-enter MARK ANTONY MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone. 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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, 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? MARK ANTONY Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well 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' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit SCENE XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd. CHARMIAN To the 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 the 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 the monument! Exeunt SCENE XIV. The same. Another room. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS MARK ANTONY Eros, thou yet behold'st me? EROS Ay, noble lord. MARK ANTONY Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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, MARK 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. MARK 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 annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword. MARDIAN No, Antony; My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely. MARK ANTONY Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! She hath betray'd 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 render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. MARK ANTONY Dead, then? MARDIAN Dead. MARK ANTONY Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. To MARDIAN That thou depart'st hence safe, Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit MARDIAN Off, pluck off: The seven-fold 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! Re-enter EROS EROS What would my lord? MARK ANTONY Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd 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 The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strikest 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? MARK ANTONY Eros, Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued? EROS I would not see't. MARK 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! MARK ANTONY When I did make thee free, sworest 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. MARK ANTONY Lo thee! Turning from him EROS My sword is drawn. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY 'Tis said, man; and farewell. EROS Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? MARK ANTONY Now, Eros. EROS Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Kills himself MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! Enter DERCETAS and Guard First Guard What's the noise? MARK ANTONY I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end Of what I have begun. Second Guard The star is fall'n. First Guard And time is at his period. All Alas, and woe! MARK ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead. First Guard Not I. Second Guard Nor I. Third Guard Nor any one. Exeunt Guard DERCETAS 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? DERCETAS There, Diomed there. DIOMEDES Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS MARK 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. MARK ANTONY When did she send thee? DIOMEDES Now, my lord. MARK ANTONY Where is she? DIOMEDES Lock'd 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. MARK 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 MARK ANTONY MARK 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! MARK 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 MARK ANTONY SCENE XV. The same. 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, Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument; His guard have brought him thither. Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard CLEOPATRA O sun, Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. MARK ANTONY Peace! Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. CLEOPATRA So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! MARK ANTONY I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay up thy lips. CLEOPATRA I dare not, dear,-- Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooch'd 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. MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,-- Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come; They heave MARK 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! MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence. MARK ANTONY One word, sweet queen: Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! CLEOPATRA They do not go together. MARK ANTONY Gentle, hear me: None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. CLEOPATRA My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Caesar. MARK 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' the world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. 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, MARK ANTONY dies The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body ACT V SCENE I. Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest Appear thus to us? DERCETAS I am call'd Dercetas; 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR What is't thou say'st? DERCETAS I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. OCTAVIUS 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. DERCETAS 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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. OCTAVIUS 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. MECAENAS 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 touch'd. MECAENAS When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O Antony! I have follow'd 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-- But I will tell you at some meeter season: Enter an Egyptian 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. OCTAVIUS 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 live To be ungentle. Egyptian So the gods preserve thee! Exit OCTAVIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius? All Dolabella! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employ'd: 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 dug, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS and Soldiers PROCULEIUS Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face. PROCULEIUS This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied Of him that caused it. GALLUS You see how easily she may be surprised: Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the monument by a ladder placed against a window, and, having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates To PROCULEIUS and the Guard Guard her till Caesar come. Exit 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 betray'd. CLEOPATRA What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? PROCULEIUS Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty by The 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 Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA If it might please ye,-- 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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above The element they lived in: in his livery Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As plates dropp'd from his pocket. DOLABELLA Cleopatra! CLEOPATRA Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? DOLABELLA Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were, one such, It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine And 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't. Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there: Octavius Caesar!' Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which is the Queen of Egypt? DOLABELLA It is the emperor, madam. CLEOPATRA kneels OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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' the 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. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted. Where's 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. CLEOPATRA See, Caesar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! 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! OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man, Thou wouldst have mercy on me. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Cleopatra, Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged, Put we i' the 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 cheer'd; 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not so. Adieu. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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. Re-enter DOLABELLA DOLABELLA Where is 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 perform'd 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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore. IRAS O the good gods! CLEOPATRA Nay, that's certain. IRAS I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. CLEOPATRA Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents. Re-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. Wherefore's this noise? Exit IRAS. A noise within Enter a Guardsman Guard 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. Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket Guard 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 Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. CLEOPATRA Get thee hence; farewell. Clown I wish you all joy of the worm. Setting down his 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 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' the worm. Exit Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; And golden Phoebus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in First Guard Where is 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! Dies Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar!' Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching DOLABELLA O sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bravest at the last, She levell'd 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Poison'd, 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 dropp'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O noble weakness! If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. OCTAVIUS 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 The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO BERNARDO Who's there? FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. BERNARDO Long live the king! FRANCISCO Bernardo? BERNARDO He. FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour. BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring. BERNARDO Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there? Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO Give you good night. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place. Give you good night. Exit MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo! BERNARDO Say, What, is Horatio there? HORATIO A piece of him. BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO Sit down awhile; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story What we have two nights seen. HORATIO Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. BERNARDO Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one,-- Enter Ghost MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO See, it stalks away! HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit Ghost MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer. BERNARDO 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 the 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, Dared 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 seized 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 covenant, 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 romage in the land. BERNARDO 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.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! Re-enter Ghost 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: Cock crows 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! Stop it, Marcellus. MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan? HORATIO Do, if it will not stand. BERNARDO 'Tis here! HORATIO 'Tis here! MARCELLUS 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. BERNARDO 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, The 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 dares 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 to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-- Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with the 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, Voltimand, 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 delated articles allow. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND In that and all things will we show our duty. KING CLAUDIUS We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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 My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation, Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. KING CLAUDIUS Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? LORD 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS '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 persever 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 to-day, '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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO 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 mine 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 pray thee, 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 baked 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 awhile 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 Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 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, distilled 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'd. HAMLET Did you not speak to it? HORATIO My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its 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 to-night? MARCELLUS BERNARDO We do, my lord. HAMLET Arm'd, say you? MARCELLUS BERNARDO Arm'd, my lord. HAMLET From top to toe? MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 amazed you. HAMLET Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? HORATIO While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again. HORATIO I warrant 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 to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All Our duty to your honour. HAMLET Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. Exeunt all but HAMLET My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Exit SCENE III. A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 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 disclosed, 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 the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. 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. LORD 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 thee! And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are 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 ownself 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. 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 LORD POLONIUS What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you? OPHELIA So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. LORD 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. LORD 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. LORD 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 importuned me with love In honourable fashion. LORD 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. LORD 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 somewhat 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. HAMLET No, it is struck. HORATIO Indeed? I heard it not: then it 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 to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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: But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-- Their 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 eale 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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath oped 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 I will follow it. HORATIO Do not, my lord. HAMLET Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life in 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 ruled; 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. Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 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. Another part of the platform. Enter GHOST and HAMLET HAMLET Where 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 sulphurous 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 confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAMLET O my prophetic soul! My 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 moved, 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 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, Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me. Exit HAMLET O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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. MARCELLUS HORATIO [Within] My lord, my lord,-- MARCELLUS [Within] Lord Hamlet,-- HORATIO [Within] Heaven secure him! HAMLET So be it! HORATIO [Within] Hillo, 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 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 has business and desire, Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night. HORATIO 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 [Beneath] Swear. HAMLET Ah, ha, boy! say'st 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' the 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 headshake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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! They swear So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to 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' house. Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO LORD POLONIUS Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. REYNALDO I will, my lord. LORD POLONIUS You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, Before you visit him, to make inquire Of his behavior. REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it. LORD POLONIUS Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire 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. 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. LORD POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing: you may go so far. REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonour him. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this? REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that. LORD POLONIUS Marry, sir, here's my drift; And I believe, it is a fetch of wit: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured 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. 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.' LORD POLONIUS At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry; He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say, There was a' 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. LORD POLONIUS God be wi' you; fare you well. REYNALDO Good my lord! LORD POLONIUS Observe his inclination in yourself. REYNALDO I shall, my lord. LORD POLONIUS And let him ply his music. REYNALDO Well, my lord. LORD POLONIUS Farewell! Exit REYNALDO Enter OPHELIA How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? OPHELIA O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! LORD POLONIUS With what, i' the name of God? OPHELIA My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 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. LORD POLONIUS Mad for thy love? OPHELIA My lord, I do not know; But truly, I do fear it. LORD 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 raised 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 helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. LORD 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 fetters and denied His access to me. LORD POLONIUS That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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 call it, Sith nor the 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 the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, being of so young days brought up with him, And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior, 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 GERTRUDE 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 But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. KING CLAUDIUS Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 practises Pleasant and helpful to him! QUEEN GERTRUDE Ay, amen! Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. KING CLAUDIUS Thou still hast been the father of good news. LORD POLONIUS Have I, my lord? I assure 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 used to do, that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. KING CLAUDIUS O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. LORD POLONIUS Give first admittance to the ambassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. KING CLAUDIUS Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. Exit POLONIUS He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. QUEEN GERTRUDE I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. KING CLAUDIUS Well, we shall sift him. Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS Welcome, my good friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? VOLTIMAND 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 grieved, 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 the 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, Giving 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 CLAUDIUS It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS LORD 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 GERTRUDE More matter, with less art. LORD 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 while 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. Thus: Reads 'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.' QUEEN GERTRUDE Came this from Hamlet to her? LORD 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 shown me, And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means and place, All given to mine ear. KING CLAUDIUS But how hath she Received his love? LORD POLONIUS What do you think of me? KING CLAUDIUS As of a man faithful and honourable. LORD POLONIUS I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing-- As I perceived 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 mourn for. KING CLAUDIUS Do you think 'tis this? QUEEN GERTRUDE It may be, very likely. LORD POLONIUS Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that-- That I have positively said 'Tis so,' When it proved otherwise? KING CLAUDIUS Not that I know. LORD POLONIUS [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise: If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. KING CLAUDIUS How may we try it further? LORD POLONIUS You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby. QUEEN GERTRUDE So he does indeed. LORD 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 CLAUDIUS We will try it. QUEEN GERTRUDE But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. LORD POLONIUS Away, I do beseech you, both away: I'll board him presently. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants Enter HAMLET, reading O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet? HAMLET Well, God-a-mercy. LORD POLONIUS Do you know me, my lord? HAMLET Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. LORD POLONIUS Not I, my lord. HAMLET Then I would you were so honest a man. LORD POLONIUS Honest, my lord! HAMLET Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. LORD POLONIUS That's very true, my lord. HAMLET For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? LORD POLONIUS I have, my lord. HAMLET Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't. LORD POLONIUS [Aside] How say you by that? 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. LORD POLONIUS What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET Between who? LORD POLONIUS I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. LORD 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. LORD 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 any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life. LORD POLONIUS Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET These tedious old fools! Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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 outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. ROSENCRANTZ 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, any thing, 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 [Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 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 humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not. HAMLET How comes it? do they grow rusty? ROSENCRANTZ Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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 LORD 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: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS The actors are come hither, my lord. HAMLET Buz, buz! LORD POLONIUS Upon mine honour,-- HAMLET Then came each actor on his ass,-- LORD 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! LORD POLONIUS What a treasure had he, my lord? HAMLET Why, 'One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.' LORD POLONIUS [Aside] Still on my daughter. HAMLET Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? LORD POLONIUS If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. HAMLET Nay, that follows not. LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last: comest 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 apiece 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 any thing 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 judgments 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 indict 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 the 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, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damned light To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. LORD 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 The 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' the 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 forged 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!' LORD 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?' LORD POLONIUS That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. First Player 'Run barefoot up and down, threatening 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'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 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.' LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more. HAMLET 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert. HAMLET God's bodykins, 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. LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs. HAMLET Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Exit 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 to-morrow 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 My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord! HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi' ye; Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN 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 wann'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' the 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! O, 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 To 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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. LORD POLONIUS 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties To hear and see the matter. KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. 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 CLAUDIUS 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 behaved, If 't be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself. KING CLAUDIUS [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 burthen! LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised 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 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 composed 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 no where 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 has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 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; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed 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, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS KING CLAUDIUS 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? LORD 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 placed, 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 CLAUDIUS It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt SCENE II. A hall in the castle. Enter HAMLET and 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, the 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed 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 mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous, 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! I will the king hear this piece of work? LORD POLONIUS And the queen too, and that presently. HAMLET Bid the players make haste. Exit POLONIUS Will you two help to hasten them? ROSENCRANTZ 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 coped 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 blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 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 to-night 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 seest that act afoot, 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 judgments 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. HAMLET No, nor mine now. To POLONIUS My lord, you played once i' the university, you say? LORD POLONIUS That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. HAMLET What did you enact? LORD POLONIUS I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 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 GERTRUDE Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. HAMLET No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. LORD POLONIUS [To KING CLAUDIUS] 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 these 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.' Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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. Exit HAMLET Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? OPHELIA 'Tis brief, my lord. HAMLET As woman's love. Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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 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 GERTRUDE The lady protests too much, methinks. HAMLET O, but she'll keep her word. KING CLAUDIUS Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't? HAMLET No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world. KING CLAUDIUS What do you call the play? HAMLET The Mouse-trap. 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 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. Enter LUCIANUS This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in 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 GERTRUDE How fares my lord? LORD POLONIUS Give o'er the play. KING CLAUDIUS Give me some light: away! All Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO HAMLET Why, let the stricken 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, perdy. Come, some music! Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration. HAMLET O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. 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 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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb is something musty. Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you cannot play upon me. Enter POLONIUS God bless you, sir! LORD 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? LORD POLONIUS By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. LORD POLONIUS It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET Or like a whale? LORD POLONIUS Very like a whale. HAMLET Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. LORD POLONIUS I will say so. HAMLET By and by is easily said. Exit POLONIUS 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 soever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit SCENE III. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. KING CLAUDIUS Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN We will haste us. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS 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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged, 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 the 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 KING CLAUDIUS [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit SCENE IV. The Queen's closet. Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS LORD 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 sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him. HAMLET [Within] Mother, mother, mother! QUEEN GERTRUDE I'll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. POLONIUS hides behind the arras Enter HAMLET HAMLET Now, mother, what's the matter? QUEEN GERTRUDE Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. HAMLET Mother, you have my father much offended. QUEEN GERTRUDE Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. HAMLET Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. QUEEN GERTRUDE Why, how now, Hamlet! HAMLET What's the matter now? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! LORD POLONIUS [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! HAMLET [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Makes a pass through the arras LORD POLONIUS [Behind] O, I am slain! Falls and dies QUEEN GERTRUDE O me, what hast thou done? HAMLET Nay, I know not: Is it the king? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE As kill a king! HAMLET Ay, lady, 'twas my word. Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. QUEEN GERTRUDE What have I done, that thou darest 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 GERTRUDE 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 judgment: and what judgment 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 ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Alas, he's mad! HAMLET Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed 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 GERTRUDE 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 hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this? HAMLET Do you see nothing there? QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves. HAMLET Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Exit Ghost QUEEN GERTRUDE This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE 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 devil, 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 to-night, 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 [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, Pointing to POLONIUS I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE 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 engineer 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. Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS ACT IV SCENE I. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves: You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? QUEEN GERTRUDE Bestow this place on us a little while. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! KING CLAUDIUS What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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 every one. 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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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. 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: 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 CLAUDIUS, attended KING CLAUDIUS 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 loved of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where tis so, the 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 relieved, 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 CLAUDIUS But where is he? ROSENCRANTZ Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. KING CLAUDIUS Bring him before us. ROSENCRANTZ Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? HAMLET At supper. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Alas, alas! HAMLET A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. KING CLAUDIUS What dost you mean by this? HAMLET Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. KING CLAUDIUS Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 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 CLAUDIUS Go seek him there. To some Attendants HAMLET He will stay till ye come. Exeunt Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. HAMLET For England! KING CLAUDIUS Ay, Hamlet. HAMLET Good. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: Away! for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the 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 congruing 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, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised 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. PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go softly on. Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others HAMLET Good sir, whose powers are these? Captain They are of Norway, sir. HAMLET How purposed, sir, I pray you? Captain Against some part of Poland. HAMLET Who commands them, sir? Captain The nephews 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 the imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. All's Well That Ends Well Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? LAFEU A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM I heard not of it before. LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it. HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU How understand we that? COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES Aside One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES Save you, fair queen! HELENA And you, monarch! PAROLLES No. HELENA And no. PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES Keep him out. HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ] There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother and a mistress and a friend, A phoenix, captain and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning place, and he is one-- PAROLLES What one, i' faith? HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- PAROLLES What's pity? HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Return us thanks. Enter Page Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES Under Mars, I. HELENA I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES Why under Mars? HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES When he was predominant. HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES Why think you so? HELENA You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES That's for advantage. HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. Exit HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove So show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease--my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. Exit SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. First Lord So 'tis reported, sir. KING Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial. First Lord His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's. KING I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. Second Lord You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord. KING If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM Thank your majesty. Exeunt. Flourish SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown COUNTESS I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clown 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS Well, sir. Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clown I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason? Clown Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. COUNTESS What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. COUNTESS You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS Well, now. Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Exit Steward Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. HELENA What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother: Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? HELENA That I am not. COUNTESS I say, I am your mother. HELENA Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. HELENA Good madam, pardon me! COUNTESS Do you love my son? HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress! COUNTESS Love you my son? HELENA Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- To go to Paris? HELENA Madam, I had. COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true. HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNTESS This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak. HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? HELENA There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour. COUNTESS Dost thou believe't? HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,--see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both Our hearts receive your warnings. KING Farewell. Come hither to me. Exit, attended First Lord O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars. BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' PAROLLES An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. First Lord There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES Commit it, count. Second Lord I am your accessary; and so, farewell. BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. First Lord Farewell, captain. Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. First Lord We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords PAROLLES Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? BERTRAM Stay: the king. Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM And I will do so. PAROLLES Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? KING No. LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, And write to her a love-line. KING What 'her' is this? LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA LAFEU Nay, come your ways. KING This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU Nay, come your ways: This is his majesty; say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. Exit KING Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found. KING I knew him. HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him: Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, And of his old experience the oily darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; And hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. KING We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you. Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back a again. KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think and think I know most sure My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING Are thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? HELENA The great'st grace lending grace Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. KING Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture? HELENA Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING Make thy demand. HELENA But will you make it even? KING Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING Here is my hand; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. COUNTESS I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me. COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time To entertain't so merrily with a fool. Clown O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: This is not much. Clown Not much commendation to them. COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me? Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. COUNTESS Haste you again. Exeunt severally SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM And so 'tis. LAFEU To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus. PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- PAROLLES Right; so I say. LAFEU That gave him out incurable,-- PAROLLES Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU Not to be helped,-- PAROLLES Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death. PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in--what do you call there? LAFEU A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. PAROLLES That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, I speak in respect-- PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- LAFEU Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES Ay, so I say. LAFEU In a most weak-- pausing and debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be-- pausing generally thankful. PAROLLES I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so. KING Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING Peruse them well: Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. All We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again.' KING Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? First Lord And grant it. HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love! Second Lord No better, if you please. HELENA My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir, And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. KING Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go. KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM I take her hand. KING Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES LAFEU [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master! LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES To any count, to all counts, to what is man. LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou't scarce worth. PAROLLES Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it. LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress. PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU Who? God? PAROLLES Ay, sir. LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-enter BERTRAM BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart? BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart? BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter HELENA and Clown HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well? Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clown Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA What two things? Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES Why, I say nothing. Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave. Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. PAROLLES Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA What's his will else? PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA What more commands he? PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will. PAROLLES I shall report it so. HELENA I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES Sir? LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? PAROLLES She is. BERTRAM Will she away to-night? PAROLLES As you'll have her. BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear. BERTRAM I think so. PAROLLES Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires Some private speech with you. BERTRAM I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you That presently you take our way for home; And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better than they seem And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to my mother: Giving a letter 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. HELENA Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that. HELENA And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM Well, what would you say? HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM What would you have? HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord: Faith yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. Exit HELENA Go thou toward home; where I will never come Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. First Lord Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. Second Lord Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE Be it his pleasure. First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE Welcome shall they be; And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clown By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? Clown E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! COUNTESS What is the matter? Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen First Gentleman Save you, good madam. HELENA Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Second Gentleman Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Reads When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? First Gentleman Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? Second Gentleman Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS Find you that there? HELENA Ay, madam. First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles, was it not? First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. First Gentleman Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. Second Gentleman We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near! Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. DUKE Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Steward COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Steward [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me: Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. COUNTESS What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger: When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger: My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. DIANA They say the French count has done most honourable service. Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. Tucket We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. DIANA You shall not need to fear me. Widow I hope so. Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port. HELENA Is this the way? Widow Ay, marry, is't. A march afar Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA Is it yourself? Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Widow You came, I think, from France? HELENA I did so. Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA His name, I pray you. DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. DIANA Whatsome'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: think you it is so? HELENA Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA What's his name? DIANA Monsieur Parolles. HELENA O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated: all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examined. DIANA Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleased. HELENA How do you mean? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow He does indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard In honestest defence. MARIANA The gods forbid else! Widow So, now they come: Drum and Colours Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA Which is the Frenchman? DIANA He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he loved his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA I like him well. DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave That leads him to these places: were I his lady, I would Poison that vile rascal. HELENA Which is he? DIANA That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. PAROLLES Lose our drum! well. MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Widow Marry, hang you! MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. HELENA I humbly thank you: Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. BOTH We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords Second Lord Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Second Lord On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Second Lord Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. First Lord It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him. First Lord None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. Second Lord I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. First Lord O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES Second Lord [Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. First Lord A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,--to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! First Lord That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES It might have been recovered. BERTRAM It might; but it is not now. PAROLLES It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. PAROLLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES I love not many words. Exit Second Lord No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do and dares better be damned than to do't? First Lord You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Second Lord None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. First Lord We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. Second Lord I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me. Second Lord As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord But you say she's honest. BERTRAM That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: Will you go see her? First Lord With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA and Widow HELENA If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Widow Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Widow I should believe you: For you have show'd me that which well approves You're great in fortune. HELENA Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Widow Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is passed already. Widow I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves; for he persists As if his life lay on't. HELENA Why then to-night Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush Second Lord He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter. First Soldier Good captain, let me be the interpreter. Second Lord Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? First Soldier No, sir, I warrant you. Second Lord But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? First Soldier E'en such as you speak to me. Second Lord He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. Second Lord This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. Second Lord Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Second Lord We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. Second Lord 'Twould not do. PAROLLES Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. Second Lord Hardly serve. PAROLLES Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. Second Lord How deep? PAROLLES Thirty fathom. Second Lord Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. Second Lord You shall hear one anon. PAROLLES A drum now of the enemy's,-- Alarum within Second Lord Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. They seize and blindfold him First Soldier Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES I know you are the Muskos' regiment: And I shall lose my life for want of language; If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Soldier Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES O! First Soldier O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. Second Lord Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Soldier The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES O, let me live! And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. First Soldier But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES If I do not, damn me. First Soldier Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within Second Lord Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. Second Soldier Captain, I will. Second Lord A' will betray us all unto ourselves: Inform on that. Second Soldier So I will, sir. Second Lord Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA She then was honest. BERTRAM So should you be. DIANA No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM No more o' that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM How have I sworn! DIANA 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, At least in my opinion. BERTRAM Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me. DIANA Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. DIANA Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault. BERTRAM Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers First Lord You have not given him his mother's letter? Second Lord I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man. First Lord He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. Second Lord Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. First Lord When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Second Lord He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. First Lord Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we! Second Lord Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. First Lord Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Second Lord Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. First Lord That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Second Lord We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. First Lord In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? Second Lord I hear there is an overture of peace. First Lord Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Second Lord What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? First Lord I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Second Lord Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. First Lord Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. Second Lord How is this justified? First Lord The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Second Lord Hath the count all this intelligence? First Lord Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. Second Lord I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. First Lord How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! Second Lord And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Messenger How now! where's your master? Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. Second Lord They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. First Lord They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. Second Lord If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. Second Lord Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Second Lord I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'? Second Lord His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me: hush, hush! First Lord Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa First Soldier He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em? PAROLLES I will confess what I know without constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. First Soldier Bosko chimurcho. First Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. First Soldier You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES And truly, as I hope to live. First Soldier [Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. First Soldier Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! First Lord You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Second Lord I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. First Lord He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES Poor rogues, I pray you, say. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. First Soldier [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM What shall be done to him? First Lord Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. First Soldier Well, that's set down. Reads 'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what do you know of it? PAROLLES I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly. First Soldier Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. First Soldier Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. First Lord Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. First Soldier What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. First Soldier Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters in my tent. First Soldier Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? PAROLLES I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well. First Lord Excellently. First Soldier [Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- PAROLLES That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. First Soldier Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. PAROLLES My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue! First Soldier [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. Second Lord This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. First Soldier I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. First Soldier We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? PAROLLES He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. First Lord I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. First Soldier What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. First Lord He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still. First Soldier His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. First Soldier What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? Second Lord Why does be ask him of me? First Soldier What's he? PAROLLES E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES [Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. PAROLLES O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him So, look about you: know you any here? BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on't yet PAROLLES Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers PAROLLES Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA HELENA That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be before our welcome. Widow Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown LAFEU No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. Clown I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Clown A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU Your distinction? Clown I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. LAFEU So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clown And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown At your service. LAFEU No, no, no. Clown Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU Who's that? a Frenchman? Clown Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU What prince is that? Clown The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clown I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clown If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy. COUNTESS So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. COUNTESS It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together. LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that. Clown But it is your carbonadoed face. LAFEU Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clown Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants HELENA But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. Gentleman And you. HELENA Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gentleman I have been sometimes there. HELENA I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gentleman What's your will? HELENA That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. Gentleman The king's not here. HELENA Not here, sir! Gentleman Not, indeed: He hence removed last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gentleman This I'll do for you. HELENA And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following PAROLLES Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clown Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. LAFEU And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. PAROLLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me! LAFEU Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. Trumpets sound The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. PAROLLES I praise God for you. Exeunt SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants KING We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. Gentleman I shall, my liege. Exit KING What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? LAFEU All that he is hath reference to your highness. KING Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU He looks well on't. KING I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING Well excused: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. BERTRAM gives a ring By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM Hers it was not. KING Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never Receive the ring again. KING Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM She never saw it. KING Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And makest conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize BERTRAM My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded KING I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman Gentleman Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. KING [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. KING The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded KING I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter Widow and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING Come hither, count; do you know these women? BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? DIANA Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. DIANA Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. KING What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. COUNTESS He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring's a thousand proofs. KING Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. LAFEU I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant BERTRAM What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? KING She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA I must be patient: You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet; Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM I have it not. KING What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. DIANA And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA Ay, my lord. KING Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING How, I pray you? PAROLLES He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING How is that? PAROLLES He loved her, sir, and loved her not. KING As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. LAFEU He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA Do you know he promised me marriage? PAROLLES Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? PAROLLES Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA Ay, my good lord. KING Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? DIANA It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING Who lent it you? DIANA It was not lent me neither. KING Where did you find it, then? DIANA I found it not. KING If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA I never gave it him. LAFEU This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. KING This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. DIANA It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA I'll never tell you. KING Take her away. DIANA I'll put in bail, my liege. KING I think thee now some common customer. DIANA By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? DIANA Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. KING She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. DIANA Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: Exit Widow The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA KING Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon! HELENA O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: To PAROLLES Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. To DIANA If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish EPILOGUE KING The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt As You Like It Shakespeare homepage | As You Like It | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother. ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here? ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. OLIVER What mar you then, sir? ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? OLIVER Know you where your are, sir? ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. OLIVER Know you before whom, sir? ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OLIVER What, boy! ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OLIVER Let me go, I say. ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog. ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS DENNIS Calls your worship? OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. OLIVER Call him in. Exit DENNIS 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES CHARLES Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. OLIVER Where will the old duke live? CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder. CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so God keep your worship! OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. Exit CHARLES Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. Exit SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? CELIA Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then? CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. CELIA 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE CELIA No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. CELIA Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. ROSALIND With his mouth full of news. CELIA Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter LE BEAU Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA Sport! of what colour? LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you? ROSALIND As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE Or as the Destinies decree. CELIA Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank,-- ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND You tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,-- CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men by these presents.' LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND Alas! TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants DUKE FREDERICK Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND Is yonder the man? LE BEAU Even he, madam. CELIA Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can tell you; there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK Do so: I'll not be by. LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA And mine, to eke out hers. ROSALIND Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you! CELIA Your heart's desires be with you! CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK You shall try but one fall. CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. ROSALIND Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. They wrestle ROSALIND O excellent young man! CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. Shout. CHARLES is thrown DUKE FREDERICK No more, no more. ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK I would thou hadst been son to some man else: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: I would thou hadst told me of another father. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU CELIA Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND Gentleman, Giving him a chain from her neck Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA Will you go, coz? ROSALIND Have with you. Fare you well. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause and love, Yet such is now the duke's condition That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous; what he is indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, Grounded upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Exit LE BEAU Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: But heavenly Rosalind! Exit SCENE III. A room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word? ROSALIND Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA But is all this for your father? ROSALIND No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. CELIA Hem them away. ROSALIND I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. CELIA Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! CELIA O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? ROSALIND The duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? ROSALIND Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. CELIA With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. ROSALIND Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness. DUKE FREDERICK Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. ROSALIND Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. ROSALIND So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish'd him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. CELIA Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords CELIA O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND I have more cause. CELIA Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? ROSALIND That he hath not. CELIA No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. ROSALIND Why, whither shall we go? CELIA To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. ROSALIND Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA I'll put myself in poor and mean attire And with a kind of umber smirch my face; The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-- We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? CELIA Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. AMIENS Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? Second Lord We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR Show me the place: I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. First Lord I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. Second Lord My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me; I'll make him find him: do this suddenly, And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting ORLANDO Who's there? ADAM What, my young master? O, my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO Why, what's the matter? ADAM O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son-- Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father-- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practises. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; And all this I give you. Let me be your servant: Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry But come thy ways; well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Aliena! CELIA I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. ROSALIND Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. TOUCHSTONE And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE Holla, you clown! ROSALIND Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN Who calls? TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. CORIN Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succor. CORIN Fair sir, I pity her And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see. And in my voice most welcome shall you be. ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt SCENE V. The Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others SONG. AMIENS Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. AMIENS My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you. JAQUES I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos? AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you. JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun All together here And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS And I'll sing it. JAQUES Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS What's that 'ducdame'? JAQUES 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. Exeunt severally SCENE VI. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt SCENE VII. The forest. A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws DUKE SENIOR I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. First Lord My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song. DUKE SENIOR If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES First Lord He saves my labour by his own approach. DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. JAQUES It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The 'why' is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not of my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it. DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have That to your wanting may be minister'd. ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. DUKE SENIOR Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. JAQUES All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. ORLANDO I thank you most for him. ADAM So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. DUKE SENIOR Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. SONG. AMIENS Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing, & c. DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER DUKE FREDERICK Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth Of what we think against thee. OLIVER O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Exit Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CORIN And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN No, truly. TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned. CORIN Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance. CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. CORIN Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading ROSALIND From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. ROSALIND Out, fool! TOUCHSTONE For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. ROSALIND I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing ROSALIND Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. CELIA [Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. ROSALIND O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people!' CELIA How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA Didst thou hear these verses? ROSALIND O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. CELIA That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. CELIA Trow you who hath done this? ROSALIND Is it a man? CELIA And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? ROSALIND I prithee, who? CELIA O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. ROSALIND Nay, but who is it? CELIA Is it possible? ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! ROSALIND Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that may drink thy tidings. CELIA So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard. ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. CELIA I' faith, coz, 'tis he. ROSALIND Orlando? CELIA Orlando. ROSALIND Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. ROSALIND It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed. CELIA There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CELIA Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. ROSALIND O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CELIA I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CELIA You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES ROSALIND 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. JAQUES I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. JAQUES God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can. ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. JAQUES Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO Yes, just. JAQUES I do not like her name. ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. JAQUES What stature is she of? ORLANDO Just as high as my heart. JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings? ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery. ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love. ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. JAQUES I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO Very well: what would you? ROSALIND I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? ROSALIND By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal. ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal. ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO Who stays it still withal? ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. ORLANDO Are you native of this place? ROSALIND As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it. ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them. ROSALIND No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy. ROSALIND There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO What were his marks? ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth. ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. ROSALIND Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth. ROSALIND Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind TOUCHSTONE Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? AUDREY Your features! Lord warrant us! what features! TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. JAQUES [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house! TOUCHSTONE When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUDREY I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? TOUCHSTONE No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. AUDREY Would you not have me honest? TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. JAQUES [Aside] A material fool! AUDREY Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. JAQUES [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy! TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? C ourage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the woman? TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES [Advancing] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. JAQUES Will you be married, motley? TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. TOUCHSTONE 'Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,-- O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee: but,-- Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY SIR OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. Exit SCENE IV. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND Never talk to me; I will weep. CELIA Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep? CELIA As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CELIA Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND Do you think so? CELIA Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND Not true in love? CELIA Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA Well, and what of him? CORIN If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind PHEBE I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS O dear Phebe, If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. PHEBE But till that time Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed-- Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. PHEBE Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHEBE For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN PHEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,-- PHEBE Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me. PHEBE Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. PHEBE Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS I would have you. PHEBE Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. PHEBE Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHEBE Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Between the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart. PHEBE I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. The forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND They say you are a melancholy fellow. JAQUES I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND Why then, 'tis good to be a post. JAQUES I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES Yes, I have gained my experience. ROSALIND And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too! Enter ORLANDO ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit ROSALIND Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO Of a snail? ROSALIND Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO What's that? ROSALIND Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND And I am your Rosalind. CELIA It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO What, of my suit? ROSALIND Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND Well in her person I say I will not have you. ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die. ROSALIND No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. ROSALIND By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO What sayest thou? ROSALIND Are you not good? ORLANDO I hope so. ROSALIND Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us. CELIA I cannot say the words. ROSALIND You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' CELIA Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO I will. ROSALIND Ay, but when? ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged. ROSALIND Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO For ever and a day. ROSALIND Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO O, but she is wise. ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. ROSALIND Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA And I'll sleep. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? A Lord Sir, it was I. JAQUES Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? Forester Yes, sir. JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. SONG. Forester What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it. ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention and his hand. SILVIUS Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. ROSALIND She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS Call you this railing? ROSALIND [Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. SILVIUS Call you this chiding? CELIA Alas, poor shepherd! ROSALIND Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit SILVIUS Enter OLIVER OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There's none within. OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.' Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLIVER Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND I am: what must we understand by this? OLIVER Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain'd. CELIA I pray you, tell it. OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. ROSALIND But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked. CELIA Are you his brother? ROSALIND Wast you he rescued? CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER 'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. ROSALIND But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER By and by. When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place:-- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. ROSALIND swoons CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! OLIVER Look, he recovers. ROSALIND I would I were at home. CELIA We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man's heart. ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter WILLIAM WILLIAM Good even, Audrey. AUDREY God ye good even, William. WILLIAM And good even to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM William, sir. TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so. TOUCHSTONE 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM No, sir. TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. WILLIAM Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this female,--which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY Do, good William. WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir. Exit Enter CORIN CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away! TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? OLIVER Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke and all's contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND God save you, brother. OLIVER And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO It is my arm. ROSALIND I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that. ROSALIND O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger. ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings? ROSALIND By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array: bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. PHEBE Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. ROSALIND I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. PHEBE Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And so am I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And so am I for no woman. PHEBE If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ROSALIND Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: To ORLANDO I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: To SILVIUS I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live. PHEBE Nor I. ORLANDO Nor I. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages First Page Well met, honest gentleman. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. Second Page We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Second Page I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, & c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, & c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, & c. TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. First Page You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt SCENE IV. The forest. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA DUKE SENIOR Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE ROSALIND Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here? DUKE SENIOR That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. ROSALIND You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? PHEBE That will I, should I die the hour after. ROSALIND But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? PHEBE So is the bargain. ROSALIND You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY JAQUES There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all! JAQUES Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. JAQUES And how was that ta'en up? TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. JAQUES How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR I like him very well. TOUCHSTONE God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. JAQUES Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA Still Music HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. ROSALIND [To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours. To ORLANDO To you I give myself, for I am yours. DUKE SENIOR If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! ROSALIND I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. HYMEN Peace, ho! I bar confusion: 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! DUKE SENIOR O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. PHEBE I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS JAQUES DE BOYS Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. DUKE SENIOR Welcome, young man; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. JAQUES Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? JAQUES DE BOYS He hath. JAQUES To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE SENIOR You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: To ORLANDO You to a love that your true faith doth merit: To OLIVER You to your land and love and great allies: To SILVIUS You to a long and well-deserved bed: To TOUCHSTONE And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay. JAQUES To see no pastime I what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. A dance EPILOGUE ROSALIND It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. Exeunt The Comedy of Errors Shakespeare homepage | Comedy of Errors | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die. AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed 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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased 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 meaner 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 embraced, 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, Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd 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, Dispersed 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 SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON 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 encounterd 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 seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt SCENE II. The Mart. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant First 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 dinner-time: 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 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? First 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 bed-time: 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. First Merchant Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit 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, falling 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 to-day. 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 darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE 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 undisposed: 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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit 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. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad. When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain; Would that alone, alone 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, and 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. A public place. 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 received 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 displeased. 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. Beating him 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 demeanor 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: an 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 trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'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, Want wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 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-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! 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. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR 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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR 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, Cicel, 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 [Within] 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 [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. LUCE [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Let my master in, Luce. LUCE [Within] 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 [Within] Have at you with another; that's--When? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? OF EPHESUS LUCE [Within] I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Master, knock the door hard. LUCE [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. LUCE [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? ADRIANA [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Are you there, wife? you might have come before. ADRIANA [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 there 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You have prevailed: 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. To Angelo 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. The First part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others KING HENRY IV 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; Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets 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 moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north and thus it did import: On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the 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 HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 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 call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath 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 HENRY IV 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. London. An apartment of the Prince's. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? PRINCE HENRY 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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY What, none? FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HENRY 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 fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt. FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 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 HENRY Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HENRY Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF Why, that's well said. PRINCE HENRY Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 vizards we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. PRINCE HENRY 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 lies the jest. PRINCE HENRY Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. POINS Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins PRINCE HENRY I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked 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 behavior 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, glittering 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. London. The palace. Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others KING HENRY IV 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. EARL OF 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 HENRY IV 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 You were about to speak. To North 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 misprison 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, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, 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 sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre 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 answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. SIR WALTER BLUNT The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV 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 but 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, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. KING HENRY IV 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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. Exeunt 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. Re-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 Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 wished 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, An 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-- EARL OF 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 he 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! EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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; Forbad 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure. HOTSPUR I have done, i' faith. EARL OF 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. You, my lord, To Northumberland 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? EARL OF 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? EARL OF WORCESTER And so they shall. HOTSPUR In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds fleas like a loach. First Carrier What, ostler! come away and be hanged! Second Carrier I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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 gentleman: they will along with company, for they have great charge. Exeunt carriers GADSHILL What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain [Within] 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. Enter Chamberlain 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 St. 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 Trojans that thou dreamest 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, cocksure; 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 highway, near Gadshill. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS POINS Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. PRINCE HENRY Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! PRINCE HENRY Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! FALSTAFF Where's Poins, Hal? PRINCE HENRY He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him. 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 squier 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 hath 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 HENRY Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? FALSTAFF Go, 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, BARDOLPH and PETO GADSHILL Stand. FALSTAFF So I do, against my will. POINS O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news? BARDOLPH Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? FALSTAFF Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. PRINCE HENRY Well, we leave that to the proof. POINS Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. FALSTAFF Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. PRINCE HENRY Ned, where are our disguises? POINS Here, hard by: stand close. Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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! Travellers Jesus 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. Travellers 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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY 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. 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. PRINCE HENRY Your money! POINS Villains! As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them PRINCE HENRY 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 rogue roar'd! Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth castle Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night. 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 cursed 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 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 by 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, An 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. God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY It must of force. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. POINS Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE HENRY With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet 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 under-skinker, 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. POINS Francis! PRINCE HENRY Thou art perfect. POINS Francis! Exit POINS Enter FRANCIS FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. PRINCE HENRY Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-- POINS [Within] Francis! FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner Poins! Re-enter POINS POINS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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. Re-enter FRANCIS What's o'clock, Francis? FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Exit PRINCE HENRY 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 to-day?' '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; FRANCIS following 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? He drinks PRINCE HENRY 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 villanous 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 live 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 any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 to-day. PRINCE HENRY O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. FALSTAFF All's one for that. He drinks A plague of all cowards, still say I. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Where is it, Jack? where is it? FALSTAFF Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE HENRY 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 hand-saw--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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,-- FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,-- FALSTAFF 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,-- PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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 HENRY Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord the prince! PRINCE HENRY How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, do, Jack. FALSTAFF 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit FALSTAFF PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY '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 HENRY 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 rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE HENRY I do. BARDOLPH What think you they portend? PRINCE HENRY Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE HENRY No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-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 o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,-- PRINCE HENRY He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF You have hit it. PRINCE HENRY So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. PRINCE HENRY Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE HENRY Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY 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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY 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 three score; 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I do, I will. A knocking heard Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH Re-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. Re-enter the Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord, my lord! PRINCE HENRY 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 mad, without seeming so. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Call in the sheriff. Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house. PRINCE HENRY What men? Sheriff One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier As fat as butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing 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 HENRY 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 HENRY I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sheriff Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers What hast thou found? PETO Nothing but papers, my lord. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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. Exeunt PETO Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III SCENE I. Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the 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 distemperature, 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's 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, To-morrow, 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, Not shall we need his help these fourteen days. 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 damm'd 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. EARL OF 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 alter'd. 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 axle-tree; 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 GLENDOWER MORTIMER Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! HOTSPUR I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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. EARL OF WORCESTER In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside 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. Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies MORTIMER This is the deadly spite that angers me; My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER My daughter weeps: she will 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same GLENDOWER She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks 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 learned 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. The lady speaks 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 is so humorous. By'r lady, he is 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 HOTSPUR 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'st 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 red-breast 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. The palace. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others KING HENRY IV 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 HENRY 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, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. KING HENRY IV 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 doth 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 capering 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself. KING HENRY IV 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 swathling 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 near'st 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 HENRY 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 HENRY IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. SIR WALTER 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 the state. KING HENRY IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; 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. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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! The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel,-- the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. FALSTAFF Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked a' should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant Page Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF Wait, close; I will not see him. Lord Chief-Justice What's he that goes there? Servant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Lord Chief-Justice He that was in question for the robbery? Servant He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Chief-Justice What, to York? Call him back again. Servant Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Lord Chief-Justice I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Servant Sir John! FALSTAFF What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Servant You mistake me, sir. FALSTAFF Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Servant I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Servant Sir, my lord would speak with you. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. FALSTAFF My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Lord Chief-Justice I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you. FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Lord Chief-Justice What tell you me of it? be it as it is. FALSTAFF It hath its original from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. Lord Chief-Justice I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. FALSTAFF Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Lord Chief-Justice To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. FALSTAFF I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. Lord Chief-Justice I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. FALSTAFF As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Lord Chief-Justice Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Lord Chief-Justice You have misled the youthful prince. FALSTAFF The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Lord Chief-Justice Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. FALSTAFF My lord? Lord Chief-Justice But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Lord Chief-Justice What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Lord Chief-Justice There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Lord Chief-Justice You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Lord Chief-Justice Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have chequed him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God send the prince a better companion! FALSTAFF God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. FALSTAFF Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Lord Chief-Justice Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Lord Chief-Justice Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant FALSTAFF If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page Sir? FALSTAFF What money is in my purse? Page Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. Exit Page A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? MOWBRAY I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied How in our means we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. HASTINGS Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. LORD BARDOLPH The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? HASTINGS With him, we may. LORD BARDOLPH Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. LORD BARDOLPH It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. HASTINGS But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. LORD BARDOLPH Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. HASTINGS Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. LORD BARDOLPH What, is the king but five and twenty thousand? HASTINGS To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HASTINGS If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. LORD BARDOLPH Who is it like should lead his forces hither? HASTINGS The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Let us on, And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard lived, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed! Past and to come seems best; things present worst. MOWBRAY Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? HASTINGS We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. London. A street. Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following. MISTRESS QUICKLY Master Fang, have you entered the action? FANG It is entered. MISTRESS QUICKLY Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? FANG Sirrah, where's Snare? MISTRESS QUICKLY O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. SNARE Here, here. FANG Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. MISTRESS QUICKLY Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. MISTRESS QUICKLY No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. FANG An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,-- MISTRESS QUICKLY I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH FALSTAFF How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter? FANG Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. FALSTAFF Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the channel. MISTRESS QUICKLY Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. FALSTAFF Keep them off, Bardolph. FANG A rescue! a rescue! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! FALSTAFF Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men Lord Chief-Justice What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. Lord Chief-Justice How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time and business? You should have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him? MISTRESS QUICKLY O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Lord Chief-Justice For what sum? MISTRESS QUICKLY It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. FALSTAFF I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Lord Chief-Justice How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? FALSTAFF What is the gross sum that I owe thee? MISTRESS QUICKLY Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. FALSTAFF My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the town that the eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and in person. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, in truth, my lord. Lord Chief-Justice Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. FALSTAFF My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Lord Chief-Justice You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this poor woman. FALSTAFF Come hither, hostess. Enter GOWER Lord Chief-Justice Now, Master Gower, what news? GOWER The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. MISTRESS QUICKLY Faith, you said so before. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it. MISTRESS QUICKLY By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. FALSTAFF Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. MISTRESS QUICKLY Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! FALSTAFF Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still. MISTRESS QUICKLY Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together? FALSTAFF Will I live? To BARDOLPH Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on. MISTRESS QUICKLY Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? FALSTAFF No more words; let's have her. Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy Lord Chief-Justice I have heard better news. FALSTAFF What's the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Where lay the king last night? GOWER At Basingstoke, my lord. FALSTAFF I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Come all his forces back? GOWER No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. FALSTAFF Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Lord Chief-Justice You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. FALSTAFF My lord! Lord Chief-Justice What's the matter? FALSTAFF Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? GOWER I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. FALSTAFF Will you sup with me, Master Gower? Lord Chief-Justice What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John? FALSTAFF Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Lord Chief-Justice Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool. Exeunt SCENE II. London. Another street. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Before God, I am exceeding weary. POINS Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. PRINCE HENRY Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? POINS Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition. PRINCE HENRY Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. POINS How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? PRINCE HENRY Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? POINS Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. PRINCE HENRY It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. POINS Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. PRINCE HENRY Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too. POINS Very hardly upon such a subject. PRINCE HENRY By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. POINS The reason? PRINCE HENRY What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? POINS I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. PRINCE HENRY It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? POINS Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff. PRINCE HENRY And to thee. POINS By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page PRINCE HENRY And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. BARDOLPH God save your grace! PRINCE HENRY And yours, most noble Bardolph! BARDOLPH Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? Page A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. PRINCE HENRY Has not the boy profited? BARDOLPH Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Page Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! PRINCE HENRY Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? Page Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. PRINCE HENRY A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy. POINS O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. BARDOLPH An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. PRINCE HENRY And how doth thy master, Bardolph? BARDOLPH Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you. POINS Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master? BARDOLPH In bodily health, sir. POINS Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. PRINCE HENRY I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes. POINS [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' PRINCE HENRY Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter. POINS [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. PRINCE HENRY Peace! POINS [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.' My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. PRINCE HENRY That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister? POINS God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. PRINCE HENRY Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? BARDOLPH Yea, my lord. PRINCE HENRY Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? BARDOLPH At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY What company? Page Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. PRINCE HENRY Sup any women with him? Page None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. PRINCE HENRY What pagan may that be? Page A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. PRINCE HENRY Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? POINS I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. PRINCE HENRY Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. BARDOLPH I have no tongue, sir. Page And for mine, sir, I will govern it. PRINCE HENRY Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. POINS I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. PRINCE HENRY How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? POINS Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. PRINCE HENRY From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY NORTHUMBERLAND I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! let them alone: The marshal and the archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way: Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers First Drawer What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. Second Drawer Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that. First Drawer Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. Second Drawer Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. First Drawer By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem. Second Drawer I'll see if I can find out Sneak. Exit Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET MISTRESS QUICKLY I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? DOLL TEARSHEET Better than I was: hem! The Life of King Henry the Fifth Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Exit SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged, Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of farther question. ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands which men devout By testament have given to the church Would they strip from us; being valued thus: As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil. A hundred almshouses right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill. ELY This would drink deep. CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all. ELY But what prevention? CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard. ELY And a true lover of the holy church. CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment Consideration, like an angel, came And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat and all at once As in this king. ELY We are blessed in the change. CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity, And all-admiring with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain, His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscured his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected. ELY But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? CANTERBURY He seems indifferent, Or rather swaying more upon our part Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; For I have made an offer to his majesty, Upon our spiritual convocation And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France, to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord? CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty; Save that there was not time enough to hear, As I perceived his grace would fain have done, The severals and unhidden passages Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms And generally to the crown and seat of France Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. ELY What was the impediment that broke this off? CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? ELY It is. CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Presence chamber. Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? EXETER Not here in presence. KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle. WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved, Before we hear him, of some things of weight That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne And make you long become it! KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why the law Salique that they have in France Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; For never two such kingdoms did contend Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord; For we will hear, note and believe in heart That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, That owe yourselves, your lives and services To this imperial throne. There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Then doth it well appear that Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly supposed the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, To find his title with some shows of truth, 'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. KING HENRY V May I with right and conscience make this claim? CANTERBURY The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, When the man dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back into your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English. that could entertain With half their forces the full Pride of France And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action! ELY Awake remembrance of these valiant dead And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. EXETER Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. WESTMORELAND They know your grace hath cause and means and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. CANTERBURY O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood and sword and fire to win your right; In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. KING HENRY V We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. CANTERBURY They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. KING HENRY V We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force, Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. CANTERBURY She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege; For hear her but exampled by herself: When all her chivalry hath been in France And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. WESTMORELAND But there's a saying very old and true, 'If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin:' For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. EXETER It follows then the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home; For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. CANTERBURY Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. KING HENRY V Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. Exeunt some Attendants Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. First Ambassador May't please your majesty to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? KING HENRY V We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. First Ambassador Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says that you savour too much of your youth, And bids you be advised there's nought in France That can be with a nimble galliard won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there. He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. KING HENRY V What treasure, uncle? EXETER Tennis-balls, my liege. KING HENRY V We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present and your pains we thank you for: When we have march'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, Be like a king and show my sail of greatness When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty And plodded like a man for working-days, But I will rise there with so full a glory That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten and unborn That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, To venge me as I may and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors EXETER This was a merry message. KING HENRY V We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected and all things thought upon That may with reasonable swiftness add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flourish ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed! Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nym. NYM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. BARDOLPH What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? NYM For my part, I care not: I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. NYM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. NYM I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter PISTOL and Hostess BARDOLPH Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol! PISTOL Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Hostess No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. NYM and PISTOL draw O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. BARDOLPH Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. NYM Pish! PISTOL Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Hostess Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. NYM Will you shog off? I would have you solus. PISTOL 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. NYM I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it. PISTOL O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. Draws PISTOL An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall. NYM I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it. PISTOL 'Couple a gorge!' That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to. Enter the Boy Boy Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. BARDOLPH Away, you rogue! Hostess By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy BARDOLPH Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? PISTOL Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! NYM You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL Base is the slave that pays. NYM That now I will have: that's the humour of it. PISTOL As manhood shall compound: push home. They draw BARDOLPH By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. PISTOL Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. BARDOLPH Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. NYM I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. NYM I shall have my noble? PISTOL In cash most justly paid. NYM Well, then, that's the humour of't. Re-enter Hostess Hostess As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. NYM The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. PISTOL Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. NYM The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. PISTOL Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND BEDFORD 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. EXETER They shall be apprehended by and by. WESTMORELAND How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. EXETER Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants KING HENRY V Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY V I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE Never was monarch better fear'd and loved Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY V We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. KING HENRY V We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him. SCROOP That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY V O, let us yet be merciful. CAMBRIDGE So may your highness, and yet punish too. GREY Sir, You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. KING HENRY V Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested, Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punished. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners? CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord: Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP So did you me, my liege. GREY And I, my royal sovereign. KING HENRY V Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. GREY SCROOP To which we all appeal. KING HENRY V The mercy that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law; And God acquit them of their practises! EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. SCROOP Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. CAMBRIDGE For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. GREY Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY V God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers Received the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy Hostess Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. BARDOLPH Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. NYM They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Ay, that a' did. BARDOLPH And of women. Hostess Nay, that a' did not. Boy Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils incarnate. Hostess A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy A' said once, the devil would have him about women. Hostess A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? BARDOLPH Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. NYM Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy c rystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy And that's but unwholesome food they say. PISTOL Touch her soft mouth, and march. BARDOLPH Farewell, hostess. Kissing her NYM I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. PISTOL Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. Hostess Farewell; adieu. Exeunt SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace. Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others KING OF FRANCE Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. DAUPHIN My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems: So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth. KING OF FRANCE Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger Messenger Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. KING OF FRANCE We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. DAUPHIN Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train KING OF FRANCE From our brother England? EXETER From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line, In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. KING OF FRANCE Or else what follows? EXETER Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. KING OF FRANCE For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. DAUPHIN For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: what to him from England? EXETER Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. DAUPHIN Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. KING OF FRANCE To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. KING OF FRANCE You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions: A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum, and chambers go off And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders KING HENRY V Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off SCENE II. The same. Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PISTOL And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN FLUELLEN Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward PISTOL Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! NYM These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy Boy As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. FLUELLEN It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER I think it be. FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY GOWER Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. FLUELLEN God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? MACMORRIS By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! JAMY By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation-- MACMORRIS Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? FLUELLEN Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY A! that's a foul fault. A parley sounded GOWER The town sounds a parley. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Before the gates. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train KING HENRY V How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? GOVERNOR Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible. KING HENRY V Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Flourish. The King and his train enter the town SCENE IV. The FRENCH KING's palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE KATHARINE Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. ALICE Un peu, madame. KATHARINE Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois? ALICE La main? elle est appelee de hand. KATHARINE De hand. Et les doigts? ALICE Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres. KATHARINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. KATHARINE De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. ALICE C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. KATHARINE Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras. ALICE De arm, madame. KATHARINE Et le coude? ALICE De elbow. KATHARINE De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHARINE Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. ALICE De elbow, madame. KATHARINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? ALICE De neck, madame. KATHARINE De nick. Et le menton? ALICE De chin. KATHARINE De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin. ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. KATHARINE Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. ALICE N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHARINE Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de fingres, de mails-- ALICE De nails, madame. KATHARINE De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. KATHARINE Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? ALICE De foot, madame; et de coun. KATHARINE De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. ALICE Excellent, madame! KATHARINE C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others KING OF FRANCE 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? BOURBON Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! Poor we may call them in their native lords. DAUPHIN By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BOURBON They bid us to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; Saying our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. KING OF FRANCE Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence: Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Constable This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear And for achievement offer us his ransom. KING OF FRANCE Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty. KING OF FRANCE Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, lord constable and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but did see him do as gallant service. GOWER What do you call him? FLUELLEN He is called Aunchient Pistol. GOWER I know him not. Enter PISTOL FLUELLEN Here is the man. PISTOL Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. PISTOL Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone-- FLUELLEN By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. FLUELLEN Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. The First part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright-- Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter to them another Messenger Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun. Enter another Messenger Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face. BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation. Exit GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor, And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves: Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or fly. Exeunt Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I! Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone. ALENCON Be it so. Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. CHARLES Go, call her in. Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS But first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern: By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash. JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou darest, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms: Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence. JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon And fightest with the sword of Deborah. JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out. JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously? First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector? First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here? GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats BISHOP OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this? GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I'll use to carry thee out of this place. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face. GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard, I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince. GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst, Cry. Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt SCENE IV. Orleans. Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Exit Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame: My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a linstock SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one and view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next. GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Thou shalt not die whiles-- He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.' Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? Enter a Messenger Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Here they fight TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. A short alarum Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Alarum. Here another skirmish It will not be: retire into your trenches: You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? TALBOT A maid, they say. BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial! BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner. BURGUNDY And I to this. TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault! Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so? BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend! At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure. REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord. CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in? JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. Exit SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him? Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company? BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. Whispers You perceive my mind? Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Porter Madam, I will. Exit COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and TALBOT Messenger Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Messenger Madam, it is. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter with keys COUNTESS The Second part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 2 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task and was espoused: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received. KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And over-joy of heart doth minister. KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech, Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; Such is the fulness of my heart's content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all. Flourish SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father'-- Lets the paper fall KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now! GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent over of the King of England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down: We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for the great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, Undoing all, as all had never been! CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy. But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery: For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu! YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives: And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have stayed in France and starved in France, Before-- CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: It was the pleasure of my lord the King. GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings. Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir apparent to the English crown: Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay: I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal: His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o' the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: Join we together, for the public good, In what we can, to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country! YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main. WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain, Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, While all is shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own: So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; And in my standard bear the arms of York To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows. DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me And on my head did set the diadem. GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more! DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque'd. GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter Messenger Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee and I. Enter HUME HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty! DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your grace's title shall be multiplied. DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? HUME This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him. DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban's we do make return, We'll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;' Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me? First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine? First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here! Reads 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. SUFFOLK Who is there? Enter Servant Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. Exit Servant with PETER QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Tears the supplication Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. ALL Come, let's be gone. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king? What shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester's governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, And placed a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd the regentship. SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field. BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all. SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this. QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women's matters. QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be protector of his excellence? GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?-- The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck; The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not? She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman: Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. Exit BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit Re-enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law: But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick! WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason: Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these? SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown And that your majesty was a usurper. KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words? HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigor of the law. HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent over the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant's malice: This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty. HORNER And I accept the combat willingly. PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, and leave us. Exit HUME Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear the sooner the better. BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth Spirit Adsum. MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' Reading out of a paper Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end. BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' Spirit Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this? Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close. And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. Stafford, take her to thee. Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away! Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? Reads 'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.' Why, this is just 'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' Well, to the rest: 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.' Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardly attain'd, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servingman Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy. CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. GLOUCESTER As who, my lord? SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord, An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester. KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the matter; In thine own person answer thy abuse. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if thou darest, This evening, on the east side of the grove. KING HENRY VI How now, my lords! CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport. Aside to GLOUCESTER Come with thy two-hand sword. GLOUCESTER True, uncle. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the east side of the grove? GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Aside to CARDINAL Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum-- Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!' GLOUCESTER What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Townsman A miracle! a miracle! SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife Ay, indeed, was he. SUFFOLK What woman is this? Wife His wife, an't like your worship. GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born? SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. CARDINAL What, art thou lame? SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me! SUFFOLK How camest thou so? SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree. Wife A plum-tree, master. GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind? SIMPCOX Born so, master. GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree? SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood. GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see. GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife Never, before this day, in all his life. GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not. GLOUCESTER What's his name? SIMPCOX I know not. GLOUCESTER Nor his? SIMPCOX No, indeed, master. GLOUCESTER What's thine own name? SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightest as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again? SIMPCOX O master, that you could! GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently. Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. Exit an Attendant GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. Enter a Beadle with whips GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!' KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run. GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away. GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BUCKINGHAM KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers: Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy-council; As more at large your grace shall understand. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart: Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest. And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have loved my king and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is, but if she have forgot Honour and virtue and conversed with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here: To-morrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly And call these foul offenders to their answers And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself, In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England's crown. SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full. WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. YORK Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth: Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reign'd. SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir. YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March: Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest. YORK His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days: Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king. Exeunt SCENE III. A hall of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution: The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days' open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee: I cannot justify whom the law condemns. Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go, Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert protector to thy King. QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England's realm. Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: As willingly do I the same resign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once; His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it; and God defend the right! YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter! First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid. Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already. SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? PETER Peter, forsooth. SALISBURY Peter! what more? PETER Thump. SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow! YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. Dies YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For his death we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. Sound a flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what's o'clock? Servants Ten, my lord. GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month. GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit Herald My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell! DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state. DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully? STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady; According to that state you shall be used. DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go? STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, And when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual. SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? YORK And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted. BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall. QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he's disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SOMERSET SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign! KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done! YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here. GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God! YORK In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny. GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else. SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent. GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness' land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide. GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak. BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded The Third part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 3 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. Throwing down SOMERSET's head YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. They go up WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK I am thine. EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-- Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? YORK What then? KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I. CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter! WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! Sennet. Here they come down YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came. Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt SCENE II. Sandal Castle. Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK About what? RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK What, with five thousand men? RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him! Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! Exit, dragged off by Soldiers CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- Lifting his hand RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD Thy father hath. RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. Stabs him RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! Dies CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A short alarum within Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. They lay hands on YORK, who struggles CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Putting a paper crown on his head Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Stabbing him QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. Stabbing him YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. Dies QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger WARWICK How now! what news? Messenger The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt SCENE II. Before York. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets QUEEN MARGARET Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger Messenger Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers EDWARD Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward. EDWARD No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. Exeunt SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE GEORGE Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD RICHARD Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD RICHARD Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone KING HENRY VI This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body Son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body Father Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body Father These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY VI Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER PRINCE EDWARD Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt SCENE VI. Another part of the field. A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded CLIFFORD Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. He faints Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers EDWARD Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. CLIFFORD groans, and dies EDWARD Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A forest in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands First Keeper Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook KING HENRY VI From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt SCENE II. London. The palace. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY KING EDWARD IV Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! KING EDWARD IV Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD IV How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. KING EDWARD IV 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire KING EDWARD IV Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. LADY GREY Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. KING EDWARD IV But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. KING EDWARD IV [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty: One way or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-- Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? LADY GREY 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. KING EDWARD IV Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman Nobleman My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day. SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? NORFOLK I thank your grace, Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren. NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? BUCKINGHAM All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. NORFOLK Then you lost The view of earthly glory: men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. To-day the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this masque Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise: and, being present both 'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-- For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed. BUCKINGHAM O, you go far. NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. BUCKINGHAM Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord? NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth. NORFOLK Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied For eminent assistants; but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: whence has he that, If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. BUCKINGHAM Why the devil, Upon this French going out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. ABERGAVENNY I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. BUCKINGHAM O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? NORFOLK Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. BUCKINGHAM Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy; That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. NORFOLK Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore The ambassador is silenced? NORFOLK Marry, is't. ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased At a superfluous rate! BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. NORFOLK Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you-- And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety--that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said, It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? First Secretary Here, so please you. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready? First Secretary Ay, please your grace. CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood. NORFOLK What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks Matter against me; and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object: at this instant He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king; I'll follow and outstare him. NORFOLK Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim There's difference in no persons. NORFOLK Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. BUCKINGHAM Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not but From sincere motions, by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. NORFOLK Say not 'treasonous.' BUCKINGHAM To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't; his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-- Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. NORFOLK Faith, and so it did. BUCKINGHAM Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o' the combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,-- Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt-- For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview betwixt England and France might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,-- Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made, And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. NORFOLK I am sorry To hear this of him; and could wish he were Something mistaken in't. BUCKINGHAM No, not a syllable: I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof. Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard BRANDON Your office, sergeant; execute it. Sergeant Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. BUCKINGHAM Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practise. BRANDON I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. BUCKINGHAM It will help me nothing To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things! I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well! BRANDON Nay, he must bear you company. The king To ABERGAVENNY Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. ABERGAVENNY As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd! BRANDON Here is a warrant from The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-- BUCKINGHAM So, so; These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope. BRANDON A monk o' the Chartreux. BUCKINGHAM O, Nicholas Hopkins? BRANDON He. BUCKINGHAM My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side KING HENRY VIII My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him QUEEN KATHARINE Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. KING HENRY VIII Arise, and take place by us: half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will and take it. QUEEN KATHARINE Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. KING HENRY VIII Lady mine, proceed. QUEEN KATHARINE I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been commissions Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions, yet the king our master-- Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. NORFOLK Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among then! KING HENRY VIII Taxation! Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? CARDINAL WOLSEY Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me. QUEEN KATHARINE No, my lord, You know no more than others; but you frame Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. KING HENRY VIII Still exaction! The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? QUEEN KATHARINE I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths: Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. KING HENRY VIII By my life, This is against our pleasure. CARDINAL WOLSEY And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State-statues only. KING HENRY VIII Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is question'd send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission: pray, look to't; I put it to your care. CARDINAL WOLSEY A word with you. To the Secretary Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. Exit Secretary Enter Surveyor QUEEN KATHARINE I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. KING HENRY VIII It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-- This was his gentleman in trust--of him Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. KING HENRY VIII Speak freely. Surveyor First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, that if the king Should without issue die, he'll carry it so To make the sceptre his: these very words I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced Revenge upon the cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. QUEEN KATHARINE My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. KING HENRY VIII Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surveyor He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. KING HENRY VIII What was that Hopkins? Surveyor Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor, who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. KING HENRY VIII How know'st thou this? Surveyor Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he, 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs, Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke Shall govern England.' QUEEN KATHARINE If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. KING HENRY VIII Let him on. Go forward. Surveyor On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forged him some design, which, being believed, It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, It can do me no damage;' adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. KING HENRY VIII Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further? Surveyor I can, my liege. KING HENRY VIII Proceed. Surveyor Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reproved the duke About Sir William Blomer,-- KING HENRY VIII I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surveyor 'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife to him.' KING HENRY VIII A giant traitor! CARDINAL WOLSEY Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, and this man out of prison? QUEEN KATHARINE God mend all! KING HENRY VIII There's something more would out of thee; what say'st? Surveyor After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,' He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo His father by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. KING HENRY VIII There's his period, To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none, Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, He's traitor to the height. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain and SANDS Chamberlain Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? SANDS New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Chamberlain As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage is but merely A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. SANDS They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it, That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. Chamberlain Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter LOVELL How now! What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? LOVELL Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Chamberlain What is't for? LOVELL The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Chamberlain I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. LOVELL They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those remnants Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable point of ignorance Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. SANDS 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Chamberlain What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! LOVELL Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. SANDS The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, Held current music too. Chamberlain Well said, Lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. SANDS No, my lord; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Chamberlain Sir Thomas, Whither were you a-going? LOVELL To the cardinal's: Your lordship is a guest too. Chamberlain O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. LOVELL That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Chamberlain No doubt he's noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. SANDS He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal; They are set here for examples. Chamberlain True, they are so: But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else; which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford This night to be comptrollers. SANDS I am your lordship's. Exeunt SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD GUILDFORD Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates To fair content and you: none here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Chamberlain You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. SANDS Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. LOVELL O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these! SANDS I would I were; They should find easy penance. LOVELL Faith, how easy? SANDS As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Chamberlain Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze; Two women placed together makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies. SANDS By my faith, And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies: If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. ANNE Was he mad, sir? SANDS O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Kisses her Chamberlain Well said, my lord. So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. SANDS For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state CARDINAL WOLSEY You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome; And to you all, good health. Drinks SANDS Your grace is noble: Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. CARDINAL WOLSEY My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this? SANDS The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em Talk us to silence. ANNE You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sands. SANDS Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,-- ANNE You cannot show me. SANDS I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged CARDINAL WOLSEY What's that? Chamberlain Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant CARDINAL WOLSEY What warlike voice, And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant Chamberlain How now! what is't? Servant A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. CARDINAL WOLSEY Good lord chamberlain, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and once more I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him A noble company! what are their pleasures? Chamberlain Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with 'em. CARDINAL WOLSEY Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE KING HENRY VIII The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance CARDINAL WOLSEY My lord! Chamberlain Your grace? CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Chamberlain I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers CARDINAL WOLSEY What say they? Chamberlain Such a one, they all confess, There is indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. CARDINAL WOLSEY Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make My royal choice. KING HENRY VIII Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. CARDINAL WOLSEY I am glad Your grace is grown so pleasant. KING HENRY VIII My lord chamberlain, Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? Chamberlain An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter-- The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women. KING HENRY VIII By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber? LOVELL Yes, my lord. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. KING HENRY VIII I fear, too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. KING HENRY VIII Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. Exeunt with trumpets ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting First Gentleman Whither away so fast? Second Gentleman O, God save ye! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. First Gentleman I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. Second Gentleman Were you there? First Gentleman Yes, indeed, was I. Second Gentleman Pray, speak what has happen'd. First Gentleman You may guess quickly what. Second Gentleman Is he found guilty? First Gentleman Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. Second Gentleman I am sorry for't. First Gentleman So are a number more. Second Gentleman But, pray, how pass'd it? First Gentleman I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty and alleged Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney on the contrary Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired To have brought viva voce to his face: At which appear'd against him his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. Second Gentleman That was he That fed him with his prophecies? First Gentleman The same. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all Was either pitied in him or forgotten. Second Gentleman After all this, how did he bear himself? First Gentleman When he was brought again to the bar, to hear His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and sweetly In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. Second Gentleman I do not think he fears death. First Gentleman Sure, he does not: He never was so womanish; the cause He may a little grieve at. Second Gentleman Certainly The cardinal is the end of this. First Gentleman 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. Second Gentleman That trick of state Was a deep envious one. First Gentleman At his return No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, And generally, whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. Second Gentleman All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, The mirror of all courtesy;-- First Gentleman Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people Second Gentleman Let's stand close, and behold him. BUCKINGHAM All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death; 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em: Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. LOVELL I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. BUCKINGHAM Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no black envy Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be! And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! LOVELL To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. VAUX Prepare there, The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. BUCKINGHAM Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first raised head against usurping Richard, Flying for succor to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all That made me happy at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me, A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train First Gentleman O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their beads That were the authors. Second Gentleman If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. First Gentleman Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? Second Gentleman This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. First Gentleman Let me have it; I do not talk much. Second Gentleman I am confident, You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the king and Katharine? First Gentleman Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor straight To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. Second Gentleman But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: to confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; As all think, for this business. First Gentleman 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. Second Gentleman I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. First Gentleman 'Tis woful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter Chamberlain 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: He will have all, I think. Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK Well met, my lord chamberlain. Chamberlain Good day to both your graces. SUFFOLK How is the king employ'd? Chamberlain I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK What's the cause? Chamberlain It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. SUFFOLK Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else. NORFOLK How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage: And out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? Chamberlain Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare Look into these affairs see this main end, The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. SUFFOLK And free us from his slavery. NORFOLK We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. SUFFOLK For me, my lords, I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud, the pope. NORFOLK Let's in; And with some other business put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My lord, you'll bear us company? Chamberlain Excuse me; The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships. NORFOLK Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, ha? NORFOLK Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? NORFOLK A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way Is business of estate; in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING HENRY VIII Ye are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king. To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us and it. To CARDINAL WOLSEY My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING HENRY VIII [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him? SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of: I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; Whom once more I present unto your highness. KING HENRY VIII And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves: They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING HENRY VIII Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? CARDINAL WOLSEY I know your majesty has always loved her So dear in heart, not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law: Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING HENRY VIII Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary: I find him a fit fellow. Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. GARDINER [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. KING HENRY VIII Come hither, Gardiner. Walks and whispers CARDINAL CAMPEIUS My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, he was. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Was he not held a learned man? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, surely. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY How! of me? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him, That he ran mad and died. CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment: I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING HENRY VIII Deliver this with modesty to the queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, Would it not grieve an able man to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. Enter ANNE and an Old Lady ANNE Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: His highness having lived so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old Lady Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. ANNE O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old Lady Our content Is our best having. ANNE By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old Lady Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy: You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. ANNE Nay, good troth. Old Lady Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? ANNE No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? ANNE No, in truth. Old Lady Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. ANNE How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old Lady In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter Chamberlain Chamberlain Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Chamberlain It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well. ANNE Now, I pray God, amen! Chamberlain You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. ANNE I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender; More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. Chamberlain Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The king hath of you. Aside I have perused her well; Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king: and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, And say I spoke with you. Exit Chamberlain ANNE My honour'd lord. Old Lady Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up Before you open it. ANNE This is strange to me. Old Lady How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? ANNE Come, you are pleasant. Old Lady With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! No other obligation! By my life, That promises moe thousands: honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess: say, Are you not stronger than you were? ANNE Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: pray, do not deliver What here you've heard to her. Old Lady What do you think me? Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage CARDINAL WOLSEY Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING HENRY VIII What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may, then, spare that time. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be't so. Proceed. Scribe Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier Henry King of England, & c. KING HENRY VIII Here. Scribe Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. Crier Katharine Queen of England, & c. QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable; Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry As I saw it inclined: when was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: if, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many A year before: it is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! CARDINAL WOLSEY You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS His grace Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produced and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE Lord cardinal, To you I speak. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induced by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me; Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. CARDINAL WOLSEY I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you or any: how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual: that again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judged by him. She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart CARDINAL CAMPEIUS The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. She's going away. KING HENRY VIII Call her again. Crier Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GRIFFITH Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants KING HENRY VIII Go thy ways, Kate: That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. CARDINAL WOLSEY Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloosed, although not there At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING HENRY VIII My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You're excused: But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it: on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't: My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business, Ere a determinate resolution, he, I mean the bishop, did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advertise Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forced such way, That many mazed considerings did throng And press'd in with this caution. First, methought I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If it conceived a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't than The grave does to the dead; for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together: that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,--which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,-- By all the reverend fathers of the land And doctors learn'd: first I began in private With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek, When I first moved you. LINCOLN Very well, my liege. KING HENRY VIII I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread, that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course Which you are running here. KING HENRY VIII I then moved you, My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons: unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on: For no dislike i' the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' the world. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. KING HENRY VIII [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. Exeunt in manner as they entered ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments. Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman QUEEN KATHARINE How now! Gentleman An't please your grace, the two great cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE Would they speak with me? Gentleman They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE Pray their graces To come near. Exit Gentleman What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS CARDINAL WOLSEY Peace to your highness! QUEEN KATHARINE Your graces find me here part of a housewife, I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? CARDINAL WOLSEY May it please you noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE Speak it here: There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner: would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not, so much I am happy Above a number, if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. CARDINAL WOLSEY Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-- QUEEN KATHARINE O, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English. CARDINAL WOLSEY Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. We come not by the way of accusation, To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, Forgetting, like a good man your late censure Both of his truth and him, which was too far, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE [Aside] To betray me.-- My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so! But how to make ye suddenly an answer, In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,-- More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking Either for such men or such business. For her sake that I have been,--for I feel The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces, Let me have time and counsel for my cause: Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE In England But little for my profit: can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here: They are, as all my other comforts, far hence In mine own country, lords. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS I would your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE How, sir? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Put your main cause into the king's protection; He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better and your cause; For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, You'll part away disgraced. CARDINAL WOLSEY He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries; I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye And all such false professors! would you have me-- If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? loved him next heaven? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. CARDINAL WOLSEY If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. QUEEN KATHARINE Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly; You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment. Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain NORFOLK If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: if you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, With these you bear already. SURREY I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be revenged on him. SUFFOLK Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person Out of himself? Chamberlain My lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me I know; What we can do to him, though now the time Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in's tongue. NORFOLK O, fear him not; His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. SURREY Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. NORFOLK Believe it, this is true: In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy. SURREY How came His practises to light? SUFFOLK Most strangely. SURREY O, how, how? SUFFOLK The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' SURREY Has the king this? SUFFOLK Believe it. SURREY Will this work? Chamberlain The king in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death: the king already Hath married the fair lady. SURREY Would he had! SUFFOLK May you be happy in your wish, my lord For, I profess, you have it. SURREY Now, all my joy Trace the conjunction! SUFFOLK My amen to't! NORFOLK All men's! SUFFOLK There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memorised. SURREY But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! NORFOLK Marry, amen! SUFFOLK No, no; There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried Ha! at this. Chamberlain Now, God incense him, And let him cry Ha! louder! NORFOLK But, my lord, When returns Cranmer? SUFFOLK He is return'd in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager And widow to Prince Arthur. NORFOLK This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business. SUFFOLK He has; and we shall see him For it an archbishop. NORFOLK So I hear. SUFFOLK 'Tis so. The cardinal! Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL NORFOLK Observe, observe, he's moody. CARDINAL WOLSEY The packet, Cromwell. Gave't you the king? CROMWELL To his own hand, in's bedchamber. CARDINAL WOLSEY Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? CROMWELL Presently He did unseal them: and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this morning. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he ready To come abroad? CROMWELL I think, by this he is. CARDINAL WOLSEY Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL Aside It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! NORFOLK He's discontented. SUFFOLK May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. SURREY Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice! CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. NORFOLK He is vex'd at something. SURREY I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord on's heart! Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL SUFFOLK The king, the king! KING HENRY VIII What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together! Now, my lords, Saw you the cardinal? NORFOLK My lord, we have Stood here observing him: some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple, straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. KING HENRY VIII It may well be; There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I required: and wot you what I found There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. NORFOLK It's heaven's will: Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. KING HENRY VIII If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven forgive me! Ever God bless your highness! KING HENRY VIII Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind; the which You were now running o'er: you have scarce time To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that I deem you an ill husband, and am glad To have you therein my companion. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business which I bear i' the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendence to. KING HENRY VIII You have said well. CARDINAL WOLSEY And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! KING HENRY VIII 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you: His said he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But pared my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] What should this mean? SURREY [Aside] The Lord increase this business! KING HENRY VIII Have I not made you, The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us or no. What say you? CARDINAL WOLSEY My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends Have been mine so that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. The Life and Death of King John Shakespeare homepage | King John | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. KING JOHN'S palace. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France In my behavior to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty, of England here. QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!' KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island and the territories, To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Which sways usurpingly these several titles, And put these same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this? CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The farthest limit of my embassy. KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath And sullen presage of your own decay. An honourable conduct let him have: Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said How that ambitious Constance would not cease Till she had kindled France and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented and made whole With very easy arguments of love, Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us. QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right, Or else it must go wrong with you and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. Enter a Sheriff ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy Come from country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? KING JOHN Let them approach. Our abbeys and our priories shall pay This expedition's charge. Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD What men are you? BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. KING JOHN What art thou? ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? You came not of one mother then, it seems. BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king; That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But for the certain knowledge of that truth I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother And wound her honour with this diffidence. BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea and none of mine; The which if he can prove, a' pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whether I be as true begot or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head, But that I am as well begot, my liege,-- Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-- Compare our faces and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both And were our father and this son like him, O old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father. With half that face would he have all my land: A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived, Your brother did employ my father much,-- BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there with the emperor To treat of high affairs touching that time. The advantage of his absence took the king And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, As I have heard my father speak himself, When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and took it on his death That this my mother's son was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, And if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf bred from his cow from all the world; In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force To dispossess that child which is not his? BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence and no land beside? BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Would I might never stir from off this place, I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case. QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? I am a soldier and now bound to France. BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither. BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way. KING JOHN What is thy name? BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, yours gave land. Now blessed by the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away! QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet! I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so. BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And I am I, howe'er I was begot. KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire; A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed For France, for France, for it is more than need. BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. Exeunt all but BASTARD A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'-- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective and too sociable For your conversion. Now your traveller, He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 'I shall beseech you'--that is question now; And then comes answer like an Absey book: 'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir;' 'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' And so, ere answer knows what question would, Saving in dialogue of compliment, And talking of the Alps and Apennines, The Pyrenean and the river Po, It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society And fits the mounting spirit like myself, For he is but a bastard to the time That doth not smack of observation; And so am I, whether I smack or no; And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement, But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady! What brings you here to court so hastily? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chase mine honour up and down? BASTARD My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. BASTARD James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? GURNEY Good leave, good Philip. BASTARD Philip! sparrow: James, There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more. Exit GURNEY Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? BASTARD Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; Legitimation, name and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? BASTARD As faithfully as I deny the devil. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father: By long and vehement suit I was seduced To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urged past my defence. BASTARD Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He that perforce robs lions of their hearts May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. France. Before Angiers. Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side: on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS, ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants LEWIS Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. ARTHUR God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death The rather that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. LEWIS A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? AUSTRIA Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love, That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages: We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England bring, That right in peace which here we urge in war, And then we shall repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON KING PHILIP A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arrived! What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. CHATILLON Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I; His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king's deceased, And all the unsettled humours of the land, Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make hazard of new fortunes here: In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did nearer float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. Drum beats The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. KING PHILIP How much unlook'd for is this expedition! AUSTRIA By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them be welcome then: we are prepared. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, Lords, and forces KING JOHN Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own; If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven. KING PHILIP Peace be to England, if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace. England we love; and for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king Cut off the sequence of posterity, Out-faced infant state and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? KING JOHN From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? KING PHILIP From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right: That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong And by whose help I mean to chastise it. KING JOHN Alack, thou dost usurp authority. KING PHILIP Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. QUEEN ELINOR Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? CONSTANCE Let me make answer; thy usurping son. QUEEN ELINOR Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world! CONSTANCE My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners; being as like As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. QUEEN ELINOR There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. CONSTANCE There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. AUSTRIA Peace! BASTARD Hear the crier. AUSTRIA What the devil art thou? BASTARD One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a' may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. BLANCH O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! BASTARD It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. AUSTRIA What craker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? KING PHILIP Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. LEWIS Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all; England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? KING JOHN My life as soon: I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. QUEEN ELINOR Come to thy grandam, child. CONSTANCE Do, child, go to it grandam, child: Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. ARTHUR Good my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that's made for me. QUEEN ELINOR His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. CONSTANCE Now shame upon you, whether she does or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed To do him justice and revenge on you. QUEEN ELINOR Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! CONSTANCE Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp The dominations, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. KING JOHN Bedlam, have done. CONSTANCE I have but this to say, That he is not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plague for her And with her plague; her sin his injury, Her injury the beadle to her sin, All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; a plague upon her! QUEEN ELINOR Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. CONSTANCE Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will: A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! KING PHILIP Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions. Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls First Citizen Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? KING PHILIP 'Tis France, for England. KING JOHN England, for itself. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-- KING PHILIP You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-- KING JOHN For our advantage; therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege All merciless proceeding by these French Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; And but for our approach those sleeping stones, That as a waist doth girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the sight of us your lawful king, Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a countercheque before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle; And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. KING PHILIP When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you Than the constraint of hospitable zeal In the relief of this oppressed child Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty which you truly owe To that owes it, namely this young prince: And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, We will bear home that lusty blood again Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls Can hide you from our messengers of war, Though all these English and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage And stalk in blood to our possession? First Citizen In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. First Citizen That can we not; but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal: till that time Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. KING JOHN Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- BASTARD Bastards, and else. KING JOHN To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- BASTARD Some bastards too. KING PHILIP Stand in his face to contradict his claim. First Citizen Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! KING PHILIP Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! BASTARD Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! To AUSTRIA Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA Peace! no more. BASTARD O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD Speed then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, with trumpets, to the gates French Herald You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet English Herald Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. First Citizen Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their powers, severally KING JOHN France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. KING PHILIP England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. BASTARD Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! KING JOHN Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? KING PHILIP Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? First Citizen The king of England; when we know the king. KING PHILIP Know him in us, that here hold up his right. KING JOHN In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. First Citizen A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. BASTARD By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'ld play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? KING JOHN Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers And lay this Angiers even to the ground; Then after fight who shall be king of it? BASTARD An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wronged as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other and pell-mell Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. KING PHILIP Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? KING JOHN We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. AUSTRIA I from the north. KING PHILIP Our thunder from the south Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. BASTARD O prudent discipline! From north to south: Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away! First Citizen Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. KING JOHN Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. First Citizen That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, Is niece to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete of, say he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. O, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in; And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can To our fast-closed gates; for at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance: but without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion, no, not Death himself In moral fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. BASTARD Here's a stay That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas, Talks as familiarly of roaring lions As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue: Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his But buffets better than a fist of France: Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. QUEEN ELINOR Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition, Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. First Citizen Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? KING PHILIP Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: what say you? KING JOHN If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, Except this city now by us besieged, Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich In titles, honours and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. KING PHILIP What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. LEWIS I do, my lord; and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye: Which being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow: I do protest I never loved myself Till now infixed I beheld myself Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. Whispers with BLANCH BASTARD Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be In such a love so vile a lout as he. BLANCH My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or if you will, to speak more properly, I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this; that nothing do I see in you, Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge, That I can find should merit any hate. KING JOHN What say these young ones? What say you my niece? BLANCH That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. KING JOHN Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? LEWIS Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly. KING JOHN Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. KING PHILIP It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. AUSTRIA And your lips too; for I am well assured That I did so when I was first assured. KING PHILIP Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel presently The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? I know she is not, for this match made up Her presence would have interrupted much: Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. LEWIS She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. KING PHILIP And, by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. KING JOHN We will heal up all; For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity: I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. Exeunt all but the BASTARD BASTARD Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, Who, having no external thing to lose But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world, The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, From a resolved and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And why rail I on this Commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm; But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit The Life and Death of Richard the Second Shakespeare homepage | Richard II | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. Exeunt SCENE IV. The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter BUSHY Bushy, what news? BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All Amen. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c JOHN OF GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY DUKE OF YORK The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. Exit, borne off by his Attendants KING RICHARD II And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND NORTHUMBERLAND My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit KING RICHARD II Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT NORTHUMBERLAND Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT BUSHY Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter GREEN GREEN God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY Despair not, madam. QUEEN Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter DUKE OF YORK GREEN Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK What is't, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Exit Servant Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. The Life and Death of Richard the Third Shakespeare homepage | Richard III | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER Upon what cause? CLARENCE Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER What news abroad? HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS He is. GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit HASTINGS He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER I grant ye. LADY ANNE Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE I hope so. GLOUCESTER I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE Name him. GLOUCESTER Plantagenet. LADY ANNE Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE Where is he? GLOUCESTER Here. She spitteth at him Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY RIVERS Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY GREY Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET GLOUCESTER They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET Richard! GLOUCESTER Ha! QUEEN MARGARET I call thee not. GLOUCESTER I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit HASTINGS My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER So do I ever: Aside being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Enter CATESBY CATESBY Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY BRAKENBURY Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! CLARENCE sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers First Murderer Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY reads it BRAKENBURY I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY Second Murderer What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer So I am, to let him live. First Murderer Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer A man, as you are. CLARENCE But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both To, to, to-- CLARENCE To murder me? Both Ay, ay. CLARENCE You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Ay, so we will. CLARENCE Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer What shall we do? CLARENCE Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer Take that, and that: if all this will not do, Stabs him I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body Second Murderer A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter First Murderer First Murderer How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. Exit First Murderer So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. ACT II SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others KING EDWARD IV Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS And so swear I, my lord They embrace KING EDWARD IV Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, To the Queen but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter DERBY DORSET A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET GLOUCESTER This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM We wait upon your grace. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE Boy Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK No, boy. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK Ay, boy. Boy I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF GLOUCESTER Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS And so say I. GLOUCESTER Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH DUCHESS OF YORK With all our harts. Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER BUCKINGHAM My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt SCENE III. London. A street. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen Third Citizen Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. The Tragedy of Coriolanus Shakespeare homepage | Coriolanus | Entire play 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 Marcius 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 particularise 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 Marcius? All 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 fort, 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 till 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' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All Come, come. First Citizen Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA 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 the 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' the 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 store-houses 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 Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the 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 answer'd-- 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 the 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 In 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 restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen Ye're long about it. MENENIUS Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: '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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st 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 MARCIUS Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd 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? MARCIUS They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd 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 answer'd, 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' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS What is granted them? MARCIUS 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 unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS This is strange. MARCIUS Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger, hastily Messenger Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS Here: what's the matter? Messenger The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS First Senator Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS You have fought together. MARCIUS Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS It is your former promise. MARCIUS 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 No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS O, true-bred! First Senator Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. To MARCIUS Right worthy you priority. COMINIUS Noble Marcius! First Senator [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone! MARCIUS Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS He has no equal. SICINIUS When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS Be-mock 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, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius 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 his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS Lets along. Exeunt SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate-house. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators 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 press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius 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 veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd 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 Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring 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 Marcius 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. A room in Marcius' house. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA 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 the 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 Marcius, 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 the 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 mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd 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, look'd 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 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 house-keepers. 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 school-master. 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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife 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 Corioli; 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 every thing 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 Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a Messenger MARCIUS Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS 'Tis done. LARTIUS Agreed. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS How far off lie these armies? Messenger Within this mile and half. MARCIUS 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 Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Drums 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 pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS O, they are at it! LARTIUS Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces MARCIUS 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. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing MARCIUS 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 abhorr'd Further 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 followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates 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. Enters the gates First Soldier Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier Nor I. MARCIUS is shut in First Soldier See, they have shut him in. All To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS LARTIUS What is become of Marcius? All Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd 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, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: 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 thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy First Soldier Look, sir. LARTIUS O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city SCENE V. Corioli. 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. Alarum continues still afar off Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! 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! 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. MARCIUS Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd 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! MARCIUS Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the 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. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger Thy news? Messenger The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS Though thou speak'st 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. COMINIUS Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS [Within] Come I too late? COMINIUS The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. Enter MARCIUS MARCIUS Come I too late? COMINIUS Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli 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 is he? call him hither. MARCIUS Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the 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. MARCIUS 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 smear'd; 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 Marcius. 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 obey'd. Please you to march; And four 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 Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with 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 the Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt SCENE VIII. A field of battle. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the 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 camest 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-- MARCIUS 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 vouch'd, 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. MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. 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. MARCIUS 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 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd 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 Marcius 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 Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums All Caius Marcius 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 the 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 Corioli 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 Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was with in my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS Marcius, 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 look'd to: come. 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! First Soldier 'Twill be deliver'd 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. First Soldier He's the devil. AUFIDIUS Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering 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 Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier Will not you go? AUFIDIUS I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier I shall, sir. Exeunt 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 to-night. BRUTUS Good or bad? MENENIUS Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS The lamb. MENENIUS Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Well, sir. MENENIUS In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the right-hand file? do you? Both Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS 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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA VIRGILIA Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow. MENENIUS True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body. MENENIUS One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald Herald Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! Kneels VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, 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 laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli 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 ye'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. 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, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily 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 temperately 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 I 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' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the 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 the 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 he 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 Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: 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 the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS Have with you. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions First Officer Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one 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 had 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 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, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. 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. To the Tribunes Masters o' the 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 offers to go away Nay, keep your place. First Senator Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS Sir, I hope My words disbench'd 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' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. 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 utter'd 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: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli 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 Re-quicken'd 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 call'd 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 kick'd at, And look'd 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 call'd for. First Senator Call Coriolanus. Officer He doth appear. Re-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 apart 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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. 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' the 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 block-head, 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 behavior. 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 every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All Content, content. Exeunt Citizens 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 roar'd and ran From the 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 CORIOLANUS Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. Re-enter two of the Citizens So, here comes a brace. Re-enter a third Citizen You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens Re-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 further. Both Citizens The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do. Re-enter three Citizens more Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd 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 Citizens Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Worthy voices! Re-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 the 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 summon'd 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 the 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 methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens 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 mock'd us when he begg'd 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 show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens 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 lesson'd, 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' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd 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 confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The 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' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] 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 the Capitol. All We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens 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 the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the 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 safe-guard 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 call'd 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' the 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 pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS Have I had children's voices? First Senator Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. 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 mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS Why, this was known before. BRUTUS Not to them all. CORIOLANUS Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS 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 paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd 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 tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS You speak o' the 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 here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the 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 learn'd, 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 frown 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 the other. COMINIUS Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the 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 nourish'd 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 That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson 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' the 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 barr'd, 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 the in 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 the 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' the dust. BRUTUS Manifest treason! SICINIUS This a consul? no. BRUTUS The aediles, ho! Enter an AEdile Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS Go, call the people: Exit AEdile in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS Hence, old goat! Senators, & C We'll surety him. COMINIUS Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS Help, ye citizens! Enter a rabble of Citizens (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! Citizens Down with him! down with him! Senators, & C Weapons, weapons, weapons! They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' '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 the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS Hear me, people; peace! Citizens Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 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? Citizens True, The people are the city. BRUTUS By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens 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' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS AEdiles, seize him! Citizens Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile Peace, peace! MENENIUS [To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately 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 No, I'll die here. Drawing his sword 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. COMINIUS Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens 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; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator Get you gone. COMINIUS Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS Sham 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: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd 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, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS Nay, come away. Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others A Patrician This man has marr'd 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! Second Patrician I would they were abed! MENENIUS I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble 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 nought. First Citizen He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens 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! Citizens 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 to-night. MENENIUS Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 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 dropp'd 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 the end o' the world. SICINIUS This is clean kam. BRUTUS Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 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 market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS I'll bring him to you. To the 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. A room in CORIOLANUS'S house. Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians CORIOLANUS Let them puff 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. A 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 show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS Let them hang. A Patrician Ay, and burn too. Enter MENENIUS and 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 counsell'd: 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o' the 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 the 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 unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 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 ask'd, 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. Here is Cominius. Enter COMINIUS COMINIUS I have been i' the market-place; 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 base tongue give 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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the 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 turn'd, Which quired 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 arm'd knees, Who bow'd 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 market-place; 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' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA Do your will. Exit 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. The same. 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 favour'd him. SICINIUS Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS Well, here he comes. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS, with Senators and Patricians MENENIUS Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd 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. Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens 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' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS Scratches with briers, 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 pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd 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 season'd 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' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd 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? Citizens To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, 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 banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the 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 not 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, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians AEdile The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! Shouting, and throwing 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. Citizens 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 extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd 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 conn'd them. VIRGILIA O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening 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 fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. 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' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS 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' the 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'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS Give me thy hand: Come. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street near the gate. Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile SICINIUS Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, 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. 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. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS VOLUMNIA O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the 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 BRUTUS Will you be gone? VIRGILIA [To SICINIUS] 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'ld 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 us 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 banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA Take my prayers with you. Exeunt Tribunes 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. MENENIUS Fie, fie, fie! Exeunt SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting 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 the 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 seem to wear one heart, Whose house, 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 birth-place 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. The same. A hall in Aufidius's house. Music within. Enter a Servingman First Servingman Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit Enter a second 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. Re-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. Re-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 thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him Third Servingman What fellow's this? First Servingman A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Retires 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 marvellous 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 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 dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS Under the canopy. Third Servingman Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS Ay. Third Servingman Where's that? CORIOLANUS I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Retires AUFIDIUS Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS If, Tullus, Unmuffling Not yet thou knowest 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 hast 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 Marcius, 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 devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd 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 fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest 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 follow'd 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 Marcius, Marcius! 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'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd 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 Sigh'd 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 fort: 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 Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the 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 The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two 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' the world. First Servingman I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. 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. Re-enter third Servingman Third Servingman O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman Second Servingman What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman Second Servingman Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 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 Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman But when goes this forward? Third Servingman To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a 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 spritely, waking, 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 SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with 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. Both Tribunes Hail sir! MENENIUS Hail to you both! SICINIUS Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, 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 Citizens The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was A worthy officer i' the 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 enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS Go see this rumourer whipp'd. 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 have 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 come 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 deliver'd. SICINIUS What more fearful? Messenger It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd 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 Marcius home again. SICINIUS The very trick on't. MENENIUS This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Enter a second Messenger Second Messenger You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd 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 Marcius should be join'd 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 up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS He will 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd 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 So incapable of help. Both 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' the 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 come 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. 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 Ye re 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 dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 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 us go. Exeunt SCENE VII. A camp, at a small distance from Rome. Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd 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 Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 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 the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To 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, and 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 call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd 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: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for 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 punish'd. MENENIUS Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS I offer'd 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 the 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 Marcius. MENENIUS Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 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 unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like 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 gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 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. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. Enter to them, MENENIUS First Senator Stay: whence are you? Second Senator 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 Senator From whence? MENENIUS From Rome. First Senator You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator 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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply 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 stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator 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 Senator 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, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS I am, as thy general is. First Senator 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 Senator Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS I mean, thy general. First Senator 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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone. 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 Gives a letter And would have rent 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. Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS First Senator Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye'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 Senator A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others CORIOLANUS We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd 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 a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd 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. Ha! what shout is this? Shout within Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 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 curt'sy 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.' 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 virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Kneels Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest! 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. Kneels CORIOLANUS What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 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 the 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' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld 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 To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; 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 nought 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS A' 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. Rising 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 show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 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 dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd 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; 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 bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 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 prevail'd, 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! 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. The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS CORIOLANUS Ay, by and by; To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, & c But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 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 corner-stone? 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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger SICINIUS What's the news? Second Messenger Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours 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 pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! Music still, with 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? Second Messenger Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS We will meet them, And help the joy. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate. Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, & c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others First 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 banish'd Marcius, 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' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; 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 enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Exeunt Attendants Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction Most welcome! First Conspirator How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd 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 banish'd 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd 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 enter'd 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 The 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? 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. AUFIDIUS He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him CORIOLANUS Hail, lords! I am return'd 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 Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS Marcius! AUFIDIUS Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd 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' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering 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 impress'd 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 dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 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 The People 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd 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' the 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! The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body 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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd 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 CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded The Life and Death of Julies Caesar Shakespeare homepage | Julius Caeser | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all the Commoners See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR Calpurnia! CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. CAESAR Calpurnia! CALPURNIA Here, my lord. CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. Antonius! ANTONY Caesar, my lord? CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Flourish Soothsayer Caesar! CAESAR Ha! who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face. CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I. CASSIUS I pray you, do. BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-- Among which number, Cassius, be you one-- Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. BRUTUS The games are done and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Re-enter CAESAR and his Train BRUTUS I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR Antonius! ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA CASCA You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day, That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting. BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too. CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too. BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony. BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound? CASCA He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. BRUTUS 'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness. CASSIUS No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS And after that, he came, thus sad, away? CASCA Ay. CASSIUS Did Cicero say any thing? CASCA Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS To what effect? CASCA Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the face again: but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. CASSIUS Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? CASCA No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS Will you dine with me to-morrow? CASCA Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS Good: I will expect you. CASCA Do so. Farewell, both. Exit BRUTUS What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you. CASSIUS I will do so: till then, think of the world. Exit BRUTUS Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus: If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit SCENE III. The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO CICERO Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? CASCA Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? CASCA A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 'These are their reasons; they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? CASCA He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. CICERO Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA Farewell, Cicero. Exit CICERO Enter CASSIUS CASSIUS Who's there? CASCA A Roman. CASSIUS Casca, by your voice. CASCA Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still CASCA So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. CASCA Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Enter CINNA Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS Am I not stay'd for? tell me. CINNA Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party-- CASSIUS Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit CINNA Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. BRUTUS's orchard. Enter BRUTUS BRUTUS What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS I will, my lord. Exit BRUTUS It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round. He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter BRUTUS Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS I know not, sir. BRUTUS Look in the calendar, and bring me word. LUCIUS I will, sir. Exit BRUTUS The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads 'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. 'Shall Rome, & c.' Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. Knocking within BRUTUS 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Exit LUCIUS Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS Is he alone? LUCIUS No, sir, there are moe with him. BRUTUS Do you know them? LUCIUS No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour. BRUTUS Let 'em enter. Exit LUCIUS They are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS CASSIUS I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? BRUTUS I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS He is welcome hither. CASSIUS This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS He is welcome too. CASSIUS This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS Shall I entreat a word? BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper DECIUS BRUTUS Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? CASCA No. CINNA O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,-- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA Let us not leave him out. CINNA No, by no means. METELLUS CIMBER O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS O, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. CASSIUS Then leave him out. CASCA Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS BRUTUS Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar-- BRUTUS Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company. TREBONIUS There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes BRUTUS Peace! count the clock. CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS Never fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? CINNA Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS CIMBER Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS Now, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but BRUTUS Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter PORTIA PORTIA Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart PORTIA If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Exit PORTIA Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS LUCIUS He is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? LIGARIUS Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. BRUTUS Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS Follow me, then. Exeunt SCENE II. CAESAR's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown CAESAR Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? Enter a Servant Servant My lord? CAESAR Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. Servant I will, my lord. Exit Enter CALPURNIA CALPURNIA What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. CAESAR Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he: We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible: And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house: And he shall say you are not well to-day: Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter DECIUS BRUTUS Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS BRUTUS Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. CAESAR And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA Say he is sick. CAESAR Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS BRUTUS Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR The cause is in my will: I will not come; That is enough to satisfy the senate. But for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know: Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS BRUTUS I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now: the senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 'Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'? Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS Good morrow, Caesar. CAESAR Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is 't o'clock? BRUTUS Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter ANTONY See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR Bid them prepare within: I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day: Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS Caesar, I will: Aside and so near will I be, That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. BRUTUS [Aside] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper ARTEMIDORUS 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, 'ARTEMIDORUS.' Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS. Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS PORTIA I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS To know my errand, madam. PORTIA I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? LUCIUS I hear none, madam. PORTIA Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer PORTIA Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been? Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA What is't o'clock? Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit PORTIA I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally ACT III SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others CAESAR [To the Soothsayer] The ides of March are come. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. ARTEMIDORUS Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. DECIUS BRUTUS Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. CAESAR What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following POPILIUS I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. CASSIUS What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS Fare you well. Advances to CAESAR BRUTUS What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him. CASSIUS Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS DECIUS BRUTUS Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS He is address'd: press near and second him. CINNA Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress? METELLUS CIMBER Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart,-- Kneeling CAESAR I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS CIMBER Is there no voice more worthy than my own To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR What, Brutus! CASSIUS Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CASSIUS I could be well moved, if I were as you: If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine, But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA O Caesar,-- CAESAR Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS BRUTUS Great Caesar,-- CAESAR Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA Speak, hands for me! CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR CAESAR Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar. Dies CINNA Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' BRUTUS People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. CASCA Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS BRUTUS And Cassius too. BRUTUS Where's Publius? CINNA Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS CIMBER Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance-- BRUTUS Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. CASSIUS And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS Do so: and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers. Re-enter TREBONIUS CASSIUS Where is Antony? TREBONIUS Fled to his house amazed: Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. CASSIUS Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!' CASSIUS Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS BRUTUS What, shall we forth? CASSIUS Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant BRUTUS Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Servant Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel: Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Servant I'll fetch him presently. Exit BRUTUS I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS I wish we may: but yet have I a mind That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. BRUTUS But here comes Antony. Re-enter ANTONY Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome-- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, To see thy thy Anthony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS Mark Antony,-- ANTONY Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS Brutus, a word with you. Aside to BRUTUS You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY Be it so. I do desire no more. BRUTUS Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but ANTONY ANTONY O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth-- O Caesar!-- Seeing the body ANTONY Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with CAESAR's body SCENE II. The Forum. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens Citizens We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. BRUTUS Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. King Lear Shakespeare homepage | King Lear | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. KENT Is not this your son, my lord? GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. KENT I cannot conceive you. GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? EDMUND No, my lord. GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. EDMUND My services to your lordship. KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better. EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving. GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,-- Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,-- Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. REGAN Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA Nothing, my lord. KING LEAR Nothing! CORDELIA Nothing. KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA Ay, good my lord. KING LEAR So young, and so untender? CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true. KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT Good my liege,-- KING LEAR Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown KENT Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,-- KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. KING LEAR Out of my sight! KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,-- KENT Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. KENT Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil. KING LEAR Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? BURGUNDY Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY I know no answer. KING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. KING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. KING LEAR Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. KING OF FRANCE Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. KING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. KING OF FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. KING LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA KING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. REGAN Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! KING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA GONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. REGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment. GONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let's hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN We shall further think on't. GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat. Exeunt SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Enter EDMUND, with a letter EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power! Confined to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news? EDMUND So please your lordship, none. Putting up the letter GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading? EDMUND Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see. EDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.' Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in?--When came this to you? who brought it? EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's? EDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER It is his. EDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he? EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER Think you so? EDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster-- EDMUND Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit EDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar-- Enter EDGAR And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR Do you busy yourself about that? EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last? EDGAR Why, the night gone by. EDMUND Spake you with him? EDGAR Ay, two hours together. EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? EDGAR None at all. EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the spied of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR Armed, brother! EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you: I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away. EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND I do serve you in this business. Exit EDGAR A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty My practises ride easy! I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit SCENE III. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. OSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him. Horns within GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he dislike it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be used With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you. OSWALD Well, madam. GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in the same. Enter KENT, disguised KENT If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants KING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant How now! what art thou? KENT A man, sir. KING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us? KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. KING LEAR What art thou? KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. KING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT Service. KING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve? KENT You. KING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. KING LEAR What's that? KENT Authority. KING LEAR What services canst thou do? KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. KING LEAR How old art thou? KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight. KING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant Enter OSWALD You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? OSWALD So please you,-- Exit KING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight How now! where's that mongrel? Knight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. KING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him. Knight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. KING LEAR He would not! Knight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter. KING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so? Knight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged. KING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Knight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. KING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant Re-enter OSWALD O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady's father. KING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. KING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him OSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord. KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels KING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes OSWALD out KING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. Giving KENT money Enter Fool Fool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. Offering KENT his cap KING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou? Fool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT Why, fool? Fool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! KING LEAR Why, my boy? Fool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. KING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip. Fool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. KING LEAR A pestilent gall to me! Fool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. KING LEAR Do. Fool Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. KENT This is nothing, fool. Fool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? KING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. KING LEAR A bitter fool! Fool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? KING LEAR No, lad; teach me. Fool That lord that counsell'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. KING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. KING LEAR What two crowns shall they be? Fool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Singing Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. KING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Singing Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. KING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o' the parings. Enter GONERIL KING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. Fool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To GONERIL Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. Pointing to KING LEAR That's a shealed peascod. GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. KING LEAR Are you our daughter? GONERIL Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. KING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool Lear's shadow. KING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool Which they will make an obedient father. KING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman? GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy: be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you. KING LEAR Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY KING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,-- To ALBANY O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient. KING LEAR [To GONERIL] Detested kite! thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, Striking his head And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you. KING LEAR It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter KING LEAR KING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALBANY What's the matter, sir? KING LEAR I'll tell thee: To GONERIL Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord? ALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,-- GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit GONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! ALBANY Well, you may fear too far. GONERIL Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit OSWALD No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness. ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GONERIL Nay, then-- ALBANY Well, well; the event. Exeunt SCENE V. Court before the same. Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool KING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit Fool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes? KING LEAR Ay, boy. Fool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. KING LEAR Ha, ha, ha! Fool Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. KING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face? KING LEAR No. Fool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. KING LEAR I did her wrong-- Fool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? KING LEAR No. Fool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. KING LEAR Why? Fool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. KING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? Fool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. KING LEAR Because they are not eight? Fool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. KING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! Fool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. KING LEAR How's that? Fool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. KING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Enter Gentleman How now! are the horses ready? Gentleman Ready, my lord. KING LEAR Come, boy. Fool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. GLOUCESTER's castle. Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him EDMUND Save thee, Curan. CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND Not I pray you, what are they? CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND Not a word. CURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit EDMUND The duke be here to-night? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! Enter EDGAR My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night: Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR I am sure on't, not a word. EDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell. Exit EDGAR Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion. Wounds his arm Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain? EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,-- GLOUCESTER But where is he? EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-- GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after. Exeunt some Servants By no means what? EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,-- As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce My very character,--I'ld turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.' GLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain Would he deny his letter? I never got him. Tucket within Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have the due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants CORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! REGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord. CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else. GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,-- REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice: Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. Exeunt SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT Ay. OSWALD Where may we set our horses? KENT I' the mire. OSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. KENT I love thee not. OSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD What dost thou know me for? KENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage | Macbeth | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls. Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you? First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate. First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence? MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean? MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't. Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane? MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming. MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us. MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever? First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition. from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome. Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies. Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men. Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg! Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Othello, the Moore of Venice Shakespeare homepage | Othello | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer.' And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient. RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. RODERIGO I would not follow him then. IAGO O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus! IAGO Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window BRABANTIO What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? RODERIGO Signior, is all your family within? IAGO Are your doors lock'd? BRABANTIO Why, wherefore ask you this? IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? BRABANTIO Not I what are you? RODERIGO My name is Roderigo. BRABANTIO The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,-- BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. RODERIGO Patience, good sir. BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou? IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. BRABANTIO Thou art a villain. IAGO You are--a senator. BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-- If this be known to you and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper! call up all my people! This accident is not unlike my dream: Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! Exit above IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall-- Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some cheque, Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. Exit Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers: Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? RODERIGO Truly, I think they are. BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed. BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me. BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. Exeunt SCENE II. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is. IAGO Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. OTHELLO Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,-- Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond? IAGO Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in. OTHELLO Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? IAGO By Janus, I think no. Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches OTHELLO The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? CASSIO The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. OTHELLO What is the matter, think you? CASSIO Something from Cyprus as I may divine: It is a business of some heat: the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels, And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several guests To search you out. OTHELLO 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Exit CASSIO Ancient, what makes he here? IAGO 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack: If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. CASSIO I do not understand. IAGO He's married. CASSIO To who? Re-enter OTHELLO IAGO Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go? OTHELLO Have with you. CASSIO Here comes another troop to seek for you. IAGO It is Brabantio. General, be advised; He comes to bad intent. Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with torches and weapons OTHELLO Holla! stand there! RODERIGO Signior, it is the Moor. BRABANTIO Down with him, thief! They draw on both sides IAGO You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. OTHELLO Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. BRABANTIO O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunned The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on; 'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. OTHELLO Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? BRABANTIO To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. OTHELLO What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him? First Officer 'Tis true, most worthy signior; The duke's in council and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. BRABANTIO How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. Exeunt SCENE III. A council-chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending DUKE OF VENICE There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. First Senator Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. DUKE OF VENICE And mine, a hundred and forty. Second Senator And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account,-- As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! First Officer A messenger from the galleys. Enter a Sailor DUKE OF VENICE Now, what's the business? Sailor The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo. DUKE OF VENICE How say you by this change? First Senator This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand, That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. First Officer Here is more news. Enter a Messenger Messenger The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Senator Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Messenger Of thirty sail: and now they do restem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. DUKE OF VENICE 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Senator He's now in Florence. DUKE OF VENICE Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. First Senator Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers DUKE OF VENICE Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. To BRABANTIO I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. BRABANTIO So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows And it is still itself. DUKE OF VENICE Why, what's the matter? BRABANTIO My daughter! O, my daughter! DUKE OF VENICE Senator Dead? BRABANTIO Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. DUKE OF VENICE Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. BRABANTIO Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. DUKE OF VENICE Senator We are very sorry for't. DUKE OF VENICE [To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this? BRABANTIO Nothing, but this is so. OTHELLO Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charged withal, I won his daughter. BRABANTIO A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature, and must be driven To find out practises of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. DUKE OF VENICE To vouch this, is no proof, Without more wider and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. First Senator But, Othello, speak: Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? OTHELLO I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. DUKE OF VENICE Fetch Desdemona hither. OTHELLO Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place. Exeunt IAGO and Attendants And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. DUKE OF VENICE Say it, Othello. OTHELLO Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven It was my hint to speak,--such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants DUKE OF VENICE I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. BRABANTIO I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress: Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience? DESDEMONA My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord. BRABANTIO God be wi' you! I have done. Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child: For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. DUKE OF VENICE Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. BRABANTIO So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears, But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. DUKE OF VENICE The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. OTHELLO The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife. Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. DUKE OF VENICE If you please, Be't at her father's. BRABANTIO I'll not have it so. OTHELLO Nor I. DESDEMONA Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. DUKE OF VENICE What would You, Desdemona? DESDEMONA That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him. OTHELLO Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat--the young affects In me defunct--and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! DUKE OF VENICE Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, And speed must answer it. First Senator You must away to-night. OTHELLO With all my heart. DUKE OF VENICE At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. OTHELLO So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me. DUKE OF VENICE Let it be so. Good night to every one. To BRABANTIO And, noble signior, If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Senator Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. BRABANTIO Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee. Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, & c OTHELLO My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her: And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA RODERIGO Iago,-- IAGO What say'st thou, noble heart? RODERIGO What will I do, thinkest thou? IAGO Why, go to bed, and sleep. RODERIGO I will incontinently drown myself. IAGO If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! RODERIGO It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. IAGO O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. RODERIGO What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. IAGO Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion. RODERIGO It cannot be. IAGO It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. RODERIGO Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? IAGO Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. RODERIGO Where shall we meet i' the morning? IAGO At my lodging. RODERIGO I'll be with thee betimes. IAGO Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? RODERIGO What say you? IAGO No more of drowning, do you hear? RODERIGO I am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Exit IAGO Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe. But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:-- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen MONTANO What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. MONTANO Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. MONTANO If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman Third Gentleman News, lads! our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. MONTANO How! is this true? Third Gentleman The ship is here put in, A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. MONTANO I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. MONTANO Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard. Third Gentleman Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO CASSIO Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea. MONTANO Is he well shipp'd? CASSIO His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Enter a fourth Gentleman CASSIO What noise? Fourth Gentleman The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' CASSIO My hopes do shape him for the governor. Guns heard Second Gentlemen They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. CASSIO I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Second Gentleman I shall. Exit MONTANO But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? CASSIO Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the ingener. Re-enter second Gentleman How now! who has put in? Second Gentleman 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. CASSIO Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands-- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,-- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. MONTANO What is she? CASSIO She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort! Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! DESDEMONA I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? CASSIO He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. DESDEMONA O, but I fear--How lost you company? CASSIO The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail. Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard Second Gentleman They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. CASSIO See for the news. Exit Gentleman Good ancient, you are welcome. To EMILIA Welcome, mistress. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her IAGO Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. DESDEMONA Alas, she has no speech. IAGO In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. EMILIA You have little cause to say so. IAGO Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. EMILIA You shall not write my praise. IAGO No, let me not. DESDEMONA What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? IAGO O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. DESDEMONA Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour? IAGO Ay, madam. DESDEMONA I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? IAGO I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. DESDEMONA Well praised! How if she be black and witty? IAGO If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. DESDEMONA Worse and worse. EMILIA How if fair and foolish? IAGO She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. DESDEMONA These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? IAGO There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. DESDEMONA O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? IAGO She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,-- DESDEMONA To do what? IAGO To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. DESDEMONA O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? CASSIO He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. IAGO [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! Trumpet within The Moor! I know his trumpet. CASSIO 'Tis truly so. DESDEMONA Let's meet him and receive him. CASSIO Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO O my fair warrior! DESDEMONA My dear Othello! OTHELLO It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. DESDEMONA The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! OTHELLO Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kissing her That e'er our hearts shall make! IAGO [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTHELLO Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, Once more, well met at Cyprus. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants IAGO Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them--list me. The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is directly in love with him. RODERIGO With him! why, 'tis not possible. IAGO Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most pregnant and unforced position--who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. RODERIGO I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. IAGO Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? RODERIGO Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. IAGO Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister. RODERIGO Well. IAGO Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. RODERIGO I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. IAGO I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. RODERIGO Adieu. Exit IAGO That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb-- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too-- Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. Exit SCENE II. A street. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt SCENE III. A hall in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants OTHELLO Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. CASSIO Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. OTHELLO Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. To DESDEMONA Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants Enter IAGO CASSIO Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. IAGO Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. CASSIO She's a most exquisite lady. IAGO And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. CASSIO Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. IAGO What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. CASSIO An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. IAGO And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? CASSIO She is indeed perfection. IAGO Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. CASSIO Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. IAGO O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. CASSIO I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. IAGO What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants desire it. CASSIO Where are they? IAGO Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. CASSIO I'll do't; but it dislikes me. Exit IAGO If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.--But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen; servants following with wine CASSIO 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. MONTANO Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. IAGO Some wine, ho! Sings And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! CASSIO 'Fore God, an excellent song. IAGO I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. CASSIO Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? IAGO Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. CASSIO To the health of our general! MONTANO I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. IAGO O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! CASSIO Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. IAGO Will you hear't again? CASSIO No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. IAGO It's true, good lieutenant. CASSIO For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,--I hope to be saved. IAGO And so do I too, lieutenant. CASSIO Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All Excellent well. CASSIO Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. Exit MONTANO To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. IAGO You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: and do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. MONTANO But is he often thus? IAGO 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. MONTANO It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true? Enter RODERIGO IAGO [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. Exit RODERIGO MONTANO And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say So to the Moor. IAGO Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise? Cry within: 'Help! help!' Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO CASSIO You rogue! you rascal! MONTANO What's the matter, lieutenant? CASSIO A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. RODERIGO Beat me! CASSIO Dost thou prate, rogue? Striking RODERIGO MONTANO Nay, good lieutenant; Staying him I pray you, sir, hold your hand. CASSIO Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. MONTANO Come, come, you're drunk. CASSIO Drunk! They fight IAGO [Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny. Exit RODERIGO Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;-- Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir; Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed! Bell rings Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! You will be shamed for ever. Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO What is the matter here? MONTANO 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death. Faints OTHELLO Hold, for your lives! IAGO Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,-- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! OTHELLO Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. IAGO I do not know: friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now-- As if some planet had unwitted men-- Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it! OTHELLO How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? CASSIO I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. OTHELLO Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. MONTANO Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,-- While I spare speech, which something now offends me,-- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us. OTHELLO Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: if I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't? MONTANO If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. IAGO Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help: And Cassio following him with determined sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out-- The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back-- For this was brief--I found them close together, At blow and thrust; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. OTHELLO I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. DESDEMONA What's the matter? OTHELLO All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. To MONTANO, who is led off Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO IAGO What, are you hurt, lieutenant? CASSIO Ay, past all surgery. IAGO Marry, heaven forbid! CASSIO Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! IAGO As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. CASSIO I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! IAGO What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? CASSIO I know not. IAGO Is't possible? CASSIO I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? CASSIO It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. IAGO Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. CASSIO I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. IAGO Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. CASSIO I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! IAGO You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. CASSIO You advise me well. IAGO I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. CASSIO I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here. IAGO You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago. Exit IAGO And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. Re-enter RODERIGO How now, Roderigo! RODERIGO I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. IAGO How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit RODERIGO Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit ACT III SCENE I. Before the castle. Enter CASSIO and some Musicians CASSIO Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.' Music Enter Clown Clown Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? First Musician How, sir, how! Clown Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? First Musician Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clown O, thereby hangs a tail. First Musician Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clown Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. First Musician Well, sir, we will not. Clown If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say to hear music the general does not greatly care. First Musician We have none such, sir. Clown Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: go; vanish into air; away! Exeunt Musicians CASSIO Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clown No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. CASSIO Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: wilt thou do this? Clown She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. CASSIO Do, good my friend. Exit Clown Enter IAGO In happy time, Iago. IAGO You have not been a-bed, then? CASSIO Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. IAGO I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. CASSIO I humbly thank you for't. Exit IAGO I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter EMILIA EMILIA Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again. CASSIO Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. EMILIA Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. CASSIO I am much bound to you. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen OTHELLO These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. IAGO Well, my good lord, I'll do't. OTHELLO This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt SCENE III. The garden of the castle. Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA DESDEMONA Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. EMILIA Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. DESDEMONA O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. CASSIO Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. DESDEMONA I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. DESDEMONA Do not doubt that; before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away. EMILIA Madam, here comes my lord. CASSIO Madam, I'll take my leave. DESDEMONA Why, stay, and hear me speak. CASSIO Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. DESDEMONA Well, do your discretion. Exit CASSIO Enter OTHELLO and IAGO IAGO Ha! I like not that. OTHELLO What dost thou say? IAGO Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what. OTHELLO Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO I do believe 'twas he. DESDEMONA How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO Who is't you mean? DESDEMONA Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO Went he hence now? DESDEMONA Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. DESDEMONA But shall't be shortly? OTHELLO The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA Shall't be to-night at supper? OTHELLO No, not to-night. DESDEMONA To-morrow dinner, then? OTHELLO I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason-- Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best--is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,-- OTHELLO Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. OTHELLO Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA OTHELLO Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO My noble lord-- OTHELLO What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? IAGO But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. OTHELLO Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO O, yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO Indeed! OTHELLO Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord! OTHELLO Honest! ay, honest. IAGO My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO What dost thou think? IAGO Think, my lord! OTHELLO Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO I think thou dost; And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just They are close delations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO I think so too. IAGO Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none! OTHELLO Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. OTHELLO Nay, yet there's more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO I do beseech you-- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO What dost thou mean? IAGO Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. IAGO You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. OTHELLO Ha! IAGO O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! OTHELLO O misery! IAGO Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO Why, why is this? Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this,-- Away at once with love or jealousy! IAGO I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Timon of Athens Shakespeare homepage | Timon of Athens | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors Poet Good day, sir. Painter I am glad you're well. Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Painter It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord. Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd. Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jeweller: I have a jewel here-- Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that-- Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Merchant 'Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Painter 'Tis a good piece. Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Painter Indifferent. Poet Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over Painter How this lord is follow'd! Poet The senators of Athens: happy man! Painter Look, more! Poet You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Painter How shall I understand you? Poet I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Painter I saw them speak together. Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Painter 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Painter Ay, marry, what of these? Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you? Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help: Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Messenger Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Messenger All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an old Athenian Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON Freely, good father. Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. TIMON I have so: what of him? Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service. Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON Well; what further? Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON The man is honest. Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON Does she love him? Old Athenian She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON How shall she be endow'd, if she be mated with an equal husband? Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Athenian Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may The state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; or since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work; And you shall find I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Painter The gods preserve ye! TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise? TIMON A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON Well mock'd. Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid? Enter APEMANTUS Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship. Merchant He'll spare none. TIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS Are they not Athenians? TIMON Yes. APEMANTUS Then I repent not. Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON Whither art going? APEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for. APEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. TIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS The best, for the innocence. TIMON Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Painter You're a dog. APEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS No; I eat not lords. TIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. APEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. TIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Poet How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS Thou liest. Poet Art not one? APEMANTUS Yes. Poet Then I lie not. APEMANTUS Art not a poet? Poet Yes. APEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet That's not feigned; he is so. APEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. TIMON What, thyself? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Wherefore? APEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? Merchant Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Merchant If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger TIMON What trumpet's that? Messenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! APEMANTUS So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except APEMANTUS Enter two Lords First Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Time to be honest. First Lord That time serves still. APEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it. Second Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast? APEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. Second Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. Second Lord Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. First Lord Hang thyself! APEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. Second Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence! APEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. Exit First Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. Second Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. First Lord The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. Second Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in? First Lord I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS. Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty. TIMON O, by no means, Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS A noble spirit! TIMON Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON Ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. They sit First Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not? TIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS No; You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. APEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. Second Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: This and my food are equals; there's no odds: Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. Apemantus' grace. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping: Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't: Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em! First Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we can our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Second Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Third Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much. APEMANTUS Much! Tucket, within TIMON What means that trump? Enter a Servant How now? Servant Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON Ladies! what are their wills? Servant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. TIMON I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid First Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved. Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life. As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto 't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for 't. First Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt Cupid and Ladies TIMON Flavius. FLAVIUS My lord? TIMON The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour; Aside Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should, When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit First Lord Where be our men? Servant Here, my lord, in readiness. Second Lord Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON O my friends, I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. First Lord I am so far already in your gifts,-- All So are we all. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. TIMON They are fairly welcome. FLAVIUS I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee: I prithee, let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter a Second Servant Second Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Enter a third Servant How now! what news? Third Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward. FLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer: Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word: he is so kind that he now Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. Second Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it. Third Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. Second Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call to you. All Lords O, none so welcome. TIMON I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord. First Lord We are so virtuously bound-- TIMON And so Am I to you. Second Lord So infinitely endear'd-- TIMON All to you. Lights, more lights! First Lord The best of happiness, Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. TIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and vain-glories? TIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then: I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Senator's house. Enter Senator, with papers in his hand Senator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure? Senator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when-- 'Commend me to your master'--and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger; Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS I go, sir. Senator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in contempt. CAPHIS I will, sir. Senator Go. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro CAPHIS Good even, Varro: what, You come for money? Varro's Servant Is't not your business too? CAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore? Isidore's Servant It is so. CAPHIS Would we were all discharged! Varro's Servant I fear it. CAPHIS Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, & c TIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? CAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON Go to my steward. CAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awaked by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON Mine honest friend, I prithee, but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS Nay, good my lord,-- TIMON Contain thyself, good friend. Varro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,-- Isidore's Servant From Isidore; He humbly prays your speedy payment. CAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-- Varro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past. Isidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords To FLAVIUS Come hither: pray you, How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS Pray, draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and Fool CAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. Varro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog! Varro's Servant How dost, fool? APEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Varro's Servant I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself. To the Fool Come away. Isidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet. CAPHIS Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! All Servants What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Asses. All Servants Why? APEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. Fool How do you, gentlemen? All Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress? Fool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS Good! gramercy. Enter Page Fool Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters: I know not which is which. APEMANTUS Canst not read? Page No. APEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. Page Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. Exit APEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. Fool Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? All Servants Ay; would they served us! APEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool Are you three usurers' men? All Servants Ay, fool. Fool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this? Varro's Servant I could render one. APEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Varro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Varro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. APEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus. All Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come. Fool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool FLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt Servants TIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? FLAVIUS You would not hear me, At many leisures I proposed. TIMON Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took. When my indispos ition put you back: And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time-- The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? TIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON You tell me true. FLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON Prithee, no more. FLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. TIMON Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants Servants My lord? my lord? TIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord. FLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! TIMON Go you, sir, to the senators-- Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS I have been bold-- For that I knew it the most general way-- To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON Is't true? can't be? FLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,-- But yet they could have wish'd--they know not-- Something hath been amiss--a noble nature May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;-- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence. TIMON You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. To a Servant Go to Ventidius. To FLAVIUS Prithee, be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. No blame belongs to thee. To Servant Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents. Exit Servant To FLAVIUS That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in Lucullus' house. FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him Servant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS Servant Here's my lord. LUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. Exit Servants And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS His health is well sir. LUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter Servant, with wine Servant Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee. To Servant Get you gone, sirrah. Exit Servant Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee! Throwing the money back LUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let moulten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel master's passion! this slave, Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place. Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers LUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. First Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money. Second Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. LUCILIUS How! Second Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man! there was very little honour showed in't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,-- To LUCIUS LUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-- LUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty five hundred talents. SERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir. LUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall. LUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit First Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius? Second Stranger Ay, too well. First Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse, Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. Third Stranger Religion groans at it. First Stranger For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Sempronius' house. Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's SEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these Owe their estates unto him. Servant My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have au denied him. SEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? hum! It shows but little love or judgment in him: Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like physicians, Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me? Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, But his occasion might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite its last? No: So it may prove an argument of laughter To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum, Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit Servant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out Varro's First Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS The like to you kind Varro. HORTENSIUS Lucius! What, do we meet together? Lucilius' Servant Ay, and I think One business does command us all; for mine Is money. TITUS So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS Lucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS Good day at once. Lucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? PHILOTUS Labouring for nine. Lucilius' Servant So much? PHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet? Lucilius' Servant Not yet. PHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. PHILOTUS I am of your fear for that. TITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS Most true, he does. TITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS It is against my heart. Lucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. Varro's First Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Lucilius' Servant Five thousand mine. Varro's First Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS. TITUS One of Lord Timon's men. Lucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not. TITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. FLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled Lucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. TITUS Do you hear, sir? Varro's Second Servant By your leave, sir,-- FLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly: Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. Exit Varro's First Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter? Varro's Second Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS Good gods! TITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Lucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus. TITUS My lord, here is my bill. Lucilius' Servant Here's mine. HORTENSIUS And mine, my lord. Both Varro's Servants And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS All our bills. TIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle. Lucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,- TIMON Cut my heart in sums. TITUS Mine, fifty talents. TIMON Tell out my blood. Lucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON Five thousand drops pays that. What yours?--and yours? Varro's First Servant My lord,-- Varro's Second Servant My lord,-- TIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? devils! FLAVIUS My dear lord,-- TIMON What if it should be so? FLAVIUS My lord,-- TIMON I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS Here, my lord. TIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: All, sirrah, all: I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting. First Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. Second Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants ALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! First Senator Now, captain? ALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument. First Senator You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES My lord,-- First Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? sleep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it, And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. Second Senator You breathe in vain. ALCIBIADES In vain! his service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life. First Senator What's that? ALCIBIADES I say, my lords, he has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! Second Senator He has made too much plenty with 'em; He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us, His days are foul and his drink dangerous. First Senator He dies. ALCIBIADES Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him-- Though his right arm might purchase his own time And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore For law is strict, and war is nothing more. First Senator We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. ALCIBIADES Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me. Second Senator How! ALCIBIADES Call me to your remembrances. Third Senator What! ALCIBIADES I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be, I should prove so base, To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you. First Senator Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever. ALCIBIADES Banish me! Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. First Senator If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt Senators ALCIBIADES Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit SCENE VI. The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at several doors First Lord The good time of day to you, sir. Second Lord I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. First Lord Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered: I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. Second Lord It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. First Lord I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. Second Lord In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. First Lord I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. Second Lord Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you? First Lord A thousand pieces. Second Lord A thousand pieces! First Lord What of you? Second Lord He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes. Enter TIMON and Attendants TIMON With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you? First Lord Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. Second Lord The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently. First Lord I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you an empty messenger. TIMON O, sir, let it not trouble you. Second Lord My noble lord,-- TIMON Ah, my good friend, what cheer? Second Lord My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. TIMON Think not on 't, sir. Second Lord If you had sent but two hours before,-- TIMON Let it not cumber your better remembrance. The banquet brought in Come, bring in all together. Second Lord All covered dishes! First Lord Royal cheer, I warrant you. Third Lord Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. First Lord How do you? What's the news? Third Lord Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it? First Lord Second Lord Alcibiades banished! Third Lord 'Tis so, be sure of it. First Lord How! how! Second Lord I pray you, upon what? TIMON My worthy friends, will you draw near? Third Lord I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. Second Lord This is the old man still. Third Lord Will 't hold? will 't hold? Second Lord It does: but time will--and so-- Third Lord I do conceive. TIMON Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people--what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of warm water Some Speak What does his lordship mean? Some Others I know not. TIMON May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces Your reeking villany. Throwing the water in their faces Live loathed and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Soft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;-- Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Re-enter the Lords, Senators, & c First Lord How now, my lords! Second Lord Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? Third Lord Push! did you see my cap? Fourth Lord I have lost my gown. First Lord He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel? Third Lord Did you see my cap? Second Lord Here 'tis. Fourth Lord Here lies my gown. First Lord Let's make no stay. Second Lord Lord Timon's mad. Third Lord I feel 't upon my bones. Fourth Lord One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens. Enter TIMON TIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity, Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all-- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants First Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? FLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. First Servant Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! Second Servant As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants FLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house. Third Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Servants embrace, and part several ways O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out: I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore. Enter TIMON, from the cave O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! Digging Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. March afar off Ha! a drum ? Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. Keeping some gold Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak. TIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? TIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubim look. PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off! TIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon? TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? TIMON Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA Yes. TIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-- TIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. TIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,-- TIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES Why me, Timon? TIMON That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? TIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd, No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face, A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Well, more gold: what then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. TIMON Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold: Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES I never did thee harm. TIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me. ALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm? TIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike! Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA TIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Digging Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!-- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter APEMANTUS More man? plague, plague! APEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. TIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself. APEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find-- TIMON A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS Why? TIMON Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS To vex thee. TIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON What! a knave too? APEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. TIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS Art thou proud yet? TIMON Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root APEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast. Offering him a root TIMON First mend my company, take away thyself. APEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. TIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; if not, I would it were. APEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS Here is no use for gold. TIMON The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon? TIMON Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind! APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. TIMON On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar? TIMON Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? APEMANTUS Myself. TIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS Ay, Timon. TIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON If I name thee. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. APEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Throws a stone at him APEMANTUS Beast! TIMON Slave! APEMANTUS Toad! TIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon 't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. To the gold O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON Throng'd to! APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery. TIMON Long live so, and so die. Exit APEMANTUS I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Banditti First Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. Second Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. Third Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? Second Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. First Bandit Is not this he? Banditti Where? Second Bandit 'Tis his description. Third Bandit He; I know him. Banditti Save thee, Timon. TIMON Now, thieves? Banditti Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON Both too; and women's sons. Banditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? First Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery. The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. Third Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. First Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. Second Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. First Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt Banditti Enter FLAVIUS FLAVIUS O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON Away! what art thou? FLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. TIMON If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave ACT V SCENE I. The woods. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching them from his cave Painter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? Painter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Painter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having. Poet What have you now to present unto him? Painter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Painter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. TIMON comes from his cave, behind TIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Painter True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. Coming forward Poet Hail, worthy Timon! Painter Our late noble master! TIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Painter He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON Ay, you are honest men. Painter We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Painter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Painter So, so, my lord. TIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Both Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON You'll take it ill. Both Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON Will you, indeed? Both Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both Do we, my lord? TIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he's a made-up villain. Painter I know none such, my lord. Poet Nor I. TIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. Both Name them, my lord, let's know them. TIMON You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves: To Painter You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence! To Poet You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators FLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. First Senator Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon. Second Senator At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. TIMON comes from his cave TIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! First Senator Worthy Timon,-- TIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. First Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. First Senator O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. Second Senator They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. First Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. Second Senator And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens. First Senator Therefore, Timon,-- TIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! First Senator We speak in vain. TIMON But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. First Senator That's well spoke. TIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- First Senator These words become your lips as they pass thorough them. Second Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. First Senator I like this well; he will return again. TIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. FLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. Retires to his cave First Senator His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. Second Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. First Senator It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens. Enter two Senators and a Messenger First Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files As full as thy report? Messenger have spoke the least: Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. Second Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Messenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; Whom, though in general part we were opposed, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends: this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' the cause against your city, In part for his sake moved. First Senator Here come our brothers. Enter the Senators from TIMON Third Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON Soldier By all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: Our captain hath in every figure skill, An aged interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers ALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. First Senator Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. Second Senator So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. First Senator These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them. Second Senator Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. First Senator All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. Second Senator What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. First Senator Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. Second Senator Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon's and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. Both 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates Enter Soldier Soldier My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt Titus Andronicus Shakespeare homepage | Titus Andronicus | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol. The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side, SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit'd home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause. Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol Enter a Captain Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. The tomb is opened There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes; re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS ANDRONICUS Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS ANDRONICUS Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS ANDRONICUS People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS ANDRONICUS Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!' MARCUS ANDRONICUS With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' A long flourish till they come down SATURNINUS Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS ANDRONICUS It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record, and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS ANDRONICUS [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? LAVINIA Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show BASSIANUS Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Seizing LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS ANDRONICUS 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! SATURNINUS Surprised! by whom? BASSIANUS By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS My lord, you pass not here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome? Stabbing MUTIUS MUTIUS Help, Lucius, help! Dies During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. LUCIUS Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promised love. Exit SATURNINUS No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS ANDRONICUS O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me. TAMORA And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS ANDRONICUS I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS ANDRONICUS No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! LUCIUS But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren. QUINTUS MARTIUS And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS ANDRONICUS 'And shall!' what villain was it that spake that word? QUINTUS He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS ANDRONICUS No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS ANDRONICUS Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel MARCUS ANDRONICUS Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,-- QUINTUS Father, and in that name doth nature speak,-- TITUS ANDRONICUS Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-- LUCIUS Dear father, soul and substance of us all,-- MARCUS ANDRONICUS Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS ANDRONICUS Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. MUTIUS is put into the tomb LUCIUS There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. All [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? TITUS ANDRONICUS I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others SATURNINUS So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. SATURNINUS Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine! TAMORA My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS What, madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Aside to SATURNINUS be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life, And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. Aloud Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. TITUS ANDRONICUS I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. LUCIUS We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS ANDRONICUS That, on mine honour, here I do protest. SATURNINUS Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS ANDRONICUS To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour. SATURNINUS Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON AARON Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora: Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Holloa! what storm is this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving DEMETRIUS Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am graced; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. CHIRON Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON [Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? They draw AARON [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS Not I, till I have sheathed My rapier in his bosom and withal Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. CHIRON For that I am prepared and full resolved. Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing darest perform! AARON Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. AARON Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON To achieve her! how? DEMETRIUS Why makest thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tired with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? would it offend you, then That both should speed? CHIRON Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS Nor me, so I were one. AARON For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar: 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, DEMETRIUS Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, & c., MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant and the woods are green: Uncouple here and let us make a bay And wake the emperor and his lovely bride And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good: I promised your grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS And you have rung it lustily, my lord; Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA I say, no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. To TAMORA Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS ANDRONICUS I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS ANDRONICUS And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest. Enter AARON, with a bag of gold AARON He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest Hides the gold That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter TAMORA TAMORA My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. TAMORA Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA BASSIANUS Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA Under your patience, gentle empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS The king my brother shall have note of this. LAVINIA Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON DEMETRIUS How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS This is a witness that I am thy son. Stabs BASSIANUS CHIRON And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies LAVINIA Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,-- TAMORA I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: To CHIRON Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. CHIRON What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall-- CHIRON Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r. Exit Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. Falls into the pit QUINTUS What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee. Falls in Enter SATURNINUS with AARON SATURNINUS Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. MARTIUS We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and Lucius TAMORA Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. She giveth SATURNINUS a letter SATURNINUS [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS ANDRONICUS High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,-- SATURNINUS If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS ANDRONICUS I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS ANDRONICUS Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Enter MARCUS MARCUS Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast! Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee O, could our mourning ease thy misery! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading TITUS ANDRONICUS Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS O noble father, you lament in vain: The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,-- LUCIUS My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Rises But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS ANDRONICUS O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS ANDRONICUS Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARCUS ANDRONICUS This was thy daughter. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS ANDRONICUS Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camest, And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use: Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. LUCIUS Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS ANDRONICUS It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me: what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears: Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead: and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt SCENE II. A street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant CAPULET But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO For what, I pray thee? ROMEO For your broken shin. BENVOLIO Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO Stay, fellow; I can read. Reads 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET JULIET How now! who calls? Nurse Your mother. JULIET Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days. Nurse Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO Strike, drum. Exeunt SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant Ay, boy, ready. First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Exit ROMEO [To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET You kiss by the book. Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO What is her mother? Nurse Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse I know not. JULIET Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO BENVOLIO Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JULIET appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO What shall I swear by? JULIET Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. Nurse calls within I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Exit, above ROMEO O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO So thrive my soul-- JULIET A thousand times good night! Exit, above ROMEO A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET Romeo! ROMEO My dear? JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO At the hour of nine. JULIET I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO I would I were thy bird. JULIET Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit above ROMEO Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO The what? MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO Pink for flower. MERCUTIO Right. ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse You say well. MERCUTIO Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO What hast thou found? MERCUTIO No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing 'lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO Go to; I say you shall. Nurse This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO Commend me to thy lady. Nurse Ay, a thousand times. Exit Romeo Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! Enter Nurse and PETER O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A public place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants BENVOLIO I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO And what to? MERCUTIO Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others TYBALT Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT I am for you. Drawing ROMEO Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO Come, sir, your passado. They fight ROMEO Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers MERCUTIO I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. Exit Page ROMEO Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO ROMEO This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! Re-enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Re-enter TYBALT Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO This shall determine that. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others PRINCE Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Enter Nurse, with cords Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down JULIET Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET Can heaven be so envious? Nurse Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Knocking within FRIAR LAURENCE Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Knocking FRIAR LAURENCE Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Knocking Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCE Welcome, then. Enter Nurse Nurse O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO Nurse! Nurse Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Drawing his sword FRIAR LAURENCE Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit ROMEO How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. He goeth down JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIET Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET What villain madam? LADY CAPULET That same villain, Romeo. JULIET [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULET That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse I speak no treason. CAPULET O, God ye god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit JULIET Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit ACT IV SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS FRIAR LAURENCE On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET PARIS Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE That's a certain text. PARIS Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Exeunt SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second Servant Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET Go, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Enter JULIET CAPULET How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. Exeunt JULIET and Nurse LADY CAPULET We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. Exeunt SCENE III. Juliet's chamber. Enter JULIET and Nurse JULIET Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse JULIET Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. Laying down her dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter CAPULET CAPULET Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. Exit CAPULET Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Music within Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Re-enter Nurse Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Exeunt SCENE V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What noise is here? Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET What is the matter? Nurse Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. Enter CAPULET CAPULET For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET O woful time! CAPULET Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter PETER PETER Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER You will not, then? First Musician No. PETER I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. Exeunt SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR JOHN FRIAR JOHN Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Exit SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch PARIS Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. Retires PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The Page whistles The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. Retires Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c ROMEO Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! They fight PAGE O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. Exit PARIS O, I am slain! Falls If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. Dies ROMEO In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! Drinks O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Dies Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo! Advances Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Enters the tomb Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET wakes JULIET O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? Noise within FRIAR LAURENCE I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, Noise again I dare no longer stay. JULIET Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Kisses him Thy lips are warm. First Watchman [Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIET Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! Snatching ROMEO's dagger This is thy sheath; Stabs herself there rust, and let me die. Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS PAGE This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR Second Watchman Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE Third Watchman Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman A great suspicion: stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants PRINCE What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others CAPULET What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra Shakespeare homepage | Antony and Cleopatra | Entire play 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 glow'd 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, 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. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome. MARK 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.' MARK 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! MARK 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; when such a mutual pair Embracing 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. MARK ANTONY But stirr'd 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. MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing 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 To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Another room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the 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. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony. CHARMIAN Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOPATRA CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord? DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam? CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches. CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us. Exeunt Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius? Messenger Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. MARK ANTONY Well, what worst? Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller. MARK 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 flatter'd. 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-- MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,-- Messenger O, my lord! MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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 MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one? Second Attendant He stays upon your will. MARK ANTONY Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger What are you? Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead. MARK ANTONY Where died she? Second Messenger In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. Gives a letter MARK ANTONY Forbear me. Exit Second Messenger There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt 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! Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's your pleasure, sir? MARK ANTONY I must with haste from hence. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY I must be gone. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY She is cunning past man's thought. Exit ALEXAS DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Would I had never seen her. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Sir? MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Fulvia! MARK ANTONY Dead. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I shall do't. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Another room. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS 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 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 MARK ANTONY CLEOPATRA I am sick and sullen. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Now, my dearest queen,-- CLEOPATRA Pray you, stand further from me. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The gods best know,-- CLEOPATRA O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd! yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. MARK 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! MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar. MARK ANTONY How now, lady! CLEOPATRA I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. MARK 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 condemn'd 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? MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war As thou affect'st. CLEOPATRA Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well, So Antony loves. MARK 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 Life perfect honour. MARK ANTONY You'll heat my blood: no more. CLEOPATRA You can do better yet; but this is meetly. MARK 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. MARK 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. MARK 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 strew'd before your feet! MARK ANTONY Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away! Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, and their Train OCTAVIUS 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 man-like 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 enow 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he which is was wish'd until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not. LEPIDUS 'Tis pity of him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. LEPIDUS To-morrow, Caesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest? 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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR 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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. CLEOPATRA What, was he sad or merry? ALEXAS Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness! 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 further travel. POMPEY I could have given less matter A better ear. Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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. The house of LEPIDUS. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS LEPIDUS Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. DOMITIUS 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 to-day. LEPIDUS 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in't. LEPIDUS But small to greater matters must give way. DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And yonder, Caesar. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA MARK ANTONY If we compose well here, to Parthia: Hark, Ventidius. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I do not know, Mecaenas; 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 the matter. MARK ANTONY 'Tis spoken well. Were we before our armies, and to fight. I should do thus. Flourish OCTAVIUS CAESAR Welcome to Rome. MARK ANTONY Thank you. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Sit. MARK ANTONY Sit, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, then. MARK ANTONY I learn, you take things ill which are not so, Or being, concern you not. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing or a little, I Should say myself offended, and with you Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. MARK ANTONY My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY How intend you, practised? OCTAVIUS CAESAR You may be pleased to catch at mine intent By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Sir, He fell upon me ere admitted: then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. LEPIDUS Soft, Caesar! MARK ANTONY No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. OCTAVIUS CAESAR To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. MARK ANTONY Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd 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. MECAENAS 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, Mecaenas. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. MARK ANTONY You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Go to, then; your considerate stone. OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. AGRIPPA Give me leave, Caesar,-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR Speak, Agrippa. AGRIPPA Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Will Caesar speak? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. MARK ANTONY What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' To make this good? OCTAVIUS CAESAR The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. MARK 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR There is 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! MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Where lies he? OCTAVIUS CAESAR About the mount Misenum. MARK ANTONY What is his strength by land? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Great and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. MARK 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 talk'd of. OCTAVIUS CAESAR With most gladness: And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I'll lead you. MARK ANTONY Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. LEPIDUS Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, and LEPIDUS MECAENAS Welcome from Egypt, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! AGRIPPA Good Enobarbus! MECAENAS We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. MECAENAS Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is this true? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. MECAENAS She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. AGRIPPA O, rare for Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. AGRIPPA Rare Egyptian! DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd. DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth. MECAENAS Now Antony must leave her utterly. DOMITIUS 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. MECAENAS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them, and Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady. Good night, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Good night. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA Enter Soothsayer MARK ANTONY Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt? Soothsayer Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! MARK 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. MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore Make space enough between you. MARK 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. MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, I' the 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. The same. A street. Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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. MECAENAS 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. MECAENAS AGRIPPA Sir, good success! LEPIDUS Farewell. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attendants The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN 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 play'd As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? MARDIAN As well as I can, madam. CLEOPATRA And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd 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 a Messenger O, from Italy Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Messenger Madam, madam,-- CLEOPATRA Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Messenger First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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 Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence, Strikes him again 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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering 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. Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger 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. Bid you Alexas To MARDIAN 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, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS, with Soldiers marching POMPEY Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most meet That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Take your time. MARK 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'er-count thee. POMPEY At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR There's the point. MARK ANTONY Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embraced. OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targes undinted. OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY 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. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; For I have gain'd by 't. OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us. OCTAVIUS CAESAR That's the next to do. POMPEY We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's Draw lots who shall begin. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY You have heard much. POMPEY I have fair meanings, sir. MARK ANTONY And fair words to them. POMPEY Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-- DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No more of that: he did so. POMPEY What, I pray you? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. POMPEY I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier? DOMITIUS 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 behavior. DOMITIUS 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY LEPIDUS Show us the way, sir. POMPEY Come. Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS MENAS [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS At sea, I think. MENAS We have, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS You have done well by water. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But there is never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS No slander; they steal hearts. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again. MENAS You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar's sister is called Octavia. MENAS True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS Pray ye, sir? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Tis true. MENAS Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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? DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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, off Misenum. Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink. First Servant But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. Second Servant Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains MARK ANTONY [To OCTAVIUS CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know, By the 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. MARK ANTONY Ay, Lepidus. LEPIDUS Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. MARK 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. DOMITIUS 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 [Aside to POMPEY] 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? MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. LEPIDUS What colour is it of? MARK ANTONY Of it own colour too. LEPIDUS 'Tis a strange serpent. MARK ANTONY 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Will this description satisfy him? MARK 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 call'd 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. The matter? Rises, and walks aside 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. MARK ANTONY These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. MENAS Wilt thou be lord of all the world? POMPEY What say'st thou? MENAS Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY How should that be? MENAS But entertain it, And, though thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. POMPEY Hast thou drunk well? MENAS Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove: Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine. POMPEY Ah, this thou shouldst have done, And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany; 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 pall'd fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. POMPEY This health to Lepidus! MARK ANTONY Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Here's to thee, Menas! MENAS Enobarbus, welcome! POMPEY Fill till the cup be hid. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS There's a strong fellow, Menas. Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS MENAS Why? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all, That it might go on wheels! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Drink thou; increase the reels. MENAS Come. POMPEY This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. MARK ANTONY It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho? Here is to Caesar! OCTAVIUS CAESAR I could well forbear't. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. MARK ANTONY Be a child o' the time. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Possess it, I'll make answer: But I had rather fast from all four days Than drink so much in one. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ha, my brave emperor! To MARK ANTONY Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? POMPEY Let's ha't, good soldier. MARK ANTONY Come, let's all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand THE SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round! OCTAVIUS 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 Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY I'll try you on the shore. MARK 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS 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 hang'd, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ho! says a' There's my cap. MENAS Ho! 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 the minute, lost his favour. Who does i' the 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' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS at another AGRIPPA What, are the brothers parted? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness. AGRIPPA 'Tis a noble Lepidus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar! AGRIPPA Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. AGRIPPA What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil! AGRIPPA O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further. AGRIPPA Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony: Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho! His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. AGRIPPA Both he loves. DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY No further, sir. OCTAVIUS 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 band 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 cherish'd. MARK ANTONY Make me not offended In your distrust. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have said. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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! MARK 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-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR What, Octavia? OCTAVIA I'll tell you in your ear. MARK 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 full of tide, And neither way inclines. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in 's face. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring; and he wept When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound he wail'd, Believe't, till I wept too. OCTAVIUS CAESAR No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Adieu; be happy! LEPIDUS Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Farewell, fa rewell! Kisses OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt SCENE III. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Where is the fellow? ALEXAS Half afeard to come. CLEOPATRA Go to, go to. Enter the 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 look'd 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 MARK ANTONY's house. Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA MARK 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 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. MARK 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 mean time, 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. MARK 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. The same. Another room. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How now, friend Eros! EROS There's strange news come, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What, man? EROS Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Our great navy's rigg'd. EROS For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Twill be naught: But let it be. Bring me to Antony. EROS Come, sir. Exeunt SCENE VI. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS OCTAVIUS CAESAR Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more, In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't: I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 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. MECAENAS This in the public eye? OCTAVIUS CAESAR I' the common show-place, where they exercise. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings: Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia. He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, As 'tis reported, so. MECAENAS Let Rome be thus Inform'd. AGRIPPA Who, queasy with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR The people know it; and have now received His accusations. AGRIPPA Who does he accuse? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Caesar: and that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him His part o' the 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 answer'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR 'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I Demand the like. MECAENAS He'll never yield to that. OCTAVIUS 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway! OCTAVIA You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. OCTAVIA Do not say so, my lord. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have eyes upon him, And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? OCTAVIA My lord, in Athens. OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; King Malchus 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 do afflict each other! OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. AGRIPPA Welcome, lady. MECAENAS Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you, Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister! Exeunt SCENE VII. Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp. Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS CLEOPATRA I will be even with thee, doubt it not. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But why, why, why? CLEOPATRA Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, And say'st it is not fit. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Well, is it, is it? CLEOPATRA If not denounced against us, why should not we Be there in person? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 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? DOMITIUS 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' the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will Appear there for a man. Speak not against it: I will not stay behind. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Nay, I have done. Here comes the emperor. Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK ANTONY For that he dares us to't. DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off; And so should you. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Your ships are not well mann'd; Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people Ingross'd 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. MARK ANTONY By sea, by sea. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth most consist Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, From firm security. MARK ANTONY I'll fight at sea. CLEOPATRA I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. MARK ANTONY Our overplus of shipping will we burn; And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium Beat the 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. MARK ANTONY Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange that 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 the Egyptians And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. MARK ANTONY Well, well: away! Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Soldier By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching OCTAVIUS CAESAR Taurus! TAURUS My lord? OCTAVIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 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 marcheth with his land army one way over the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer: The 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's thy passion! SCARUS The greater cantle of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How appears the fight? SCARUS On our side like the token'd pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,-- Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight, When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That I beheld: Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not Endure a further view. SCARUS She once being loof'd, 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. DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt SCENE XI. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS following 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! MARK ANTONY No, no, no, no, no. EROS See you here, sir? MARK ANTONY O fie, fie, fie! CHARMIAN Madam! IRAS Madam, O good empress! EROS Sir, sir,-- MARK 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 practise 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 him: O! EROS Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches: Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but Your comfort makes the rescue. MARK ANTONY I have offended reputation, A most unnoble swerving. EROS Sir, the queen. MARK 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 'Stroy'd in dishonour. CLEOPATRA O my lord, my lord, Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought You would have follow'd. MARK ANTONY Egypt, thou knew'st too well My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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! MARK 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' the world play'd 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! MARK 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. Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him appear that's come from Antony. Know you him? DOLABELLA Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion off his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by. Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Approach, and speak. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Be't so: declare thine office. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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. EUPHRONIUS Fortune pursue thee! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS To THYREUS 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, Thyreus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. THYREUS Caesar, I go. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. THYREUS Caesar, I shall. Exeunt SCENE XIII. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS CLEOPATRA What shall we do, Enobarbus? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Think, and die. CLEOPATRA Is Antony or we in fault for this? DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: 'twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. CLEOPATRA Prithee, peace. Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador MARK ANTONY Is that his answer? EUPHRONIUS Ay, my lord. MARK ANTONY The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up. EUPHRONIUS He says so. MARK 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? MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant Attendant A messenger from CAESAR. CLEOPATRA What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit Attendant DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i' the story. Enter THYREUS CLEOPATRA Caesar's will? THYREUS Hear it apart. CLEOPATRA None but friends: say boldly. THYREUS So, haply, are they friends to Antony. DOMITIUS 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. THYREUS So. Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Caesar. CLEOPATRA Go on: right royal. THYREUS He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. CLEOPATRA O! THYREUS 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 conquer'd merely. DOMITIUS 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 THYREUS 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 shrowd, The universal landlord. CLEOPATRA What's your name? THYREUS My name is Thyreus. CLEOPATRA Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering 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. THYREUS '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, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? THYREUS One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] You will be whipp'd. MARK 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 Attendants Take hence this Jack, and whip him. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. MARK 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. THYREUS Mark Antony! MARK ANTONY Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,-- MARK ANTONY You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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? MARK ANTONY I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd 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? MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him. Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS Is he whipp'd? First Attendant Soundly, my lord. MARK ANTONY Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? First Attendant He did ask favour. MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone! Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA Have you done yet? MARK ANTONY Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! CLEOPATRA I must stay his time. MARK ANTONY To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? CLEOPATRA Not know me yet? MARK 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! MARK ANTONY I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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! MARK ANTONY I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. MARK ANTONY We will yet do well. CLEOPATRA Call all his noble captains to my lord. MARK ANTONY Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter OCTAVIUS CAESAR He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp'd 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. MECAENAS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt SCENE II. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others MARK ANTONY He will not fight with me, Domitius. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No. MARK ANTONY Why should he not? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. MARK ANTONY To-morrow, 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? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' MARK ANTONY Well said; come on. Call forth my household servants: let's to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Enter three or four Servitors Give me thy hand, Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots Out of the mind. MARK ANTONY And thou art honest too. I wish I could be made so many men, And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony, that I might do you service So good as you have done. All The gods forbid! MARK ANTONY Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me As when mine empire was your fellow too, And suffer'd my command. CLEOPATRA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. MARK ANTONY Tend me to-night; May be it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 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 to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! DOMITIUS 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. MARK 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 to-morrow; 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. The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers to their guard First Soldier Brother, good night: to-morrow 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 Fourth Soldier Here we: and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. Third Soldier 'Tis a brave army, And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage Fourth Soldier Peace! what noise? First Soldier List, list! Second Soldier Hark! First Soldier Music i' the 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 [Speaking together] 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. The same. A room in the palace. Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and others attending MARK ANTONY Eros! mine armour, Eros! CLEOPATRA Sleep a little. MARK ANTONY No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter EROS with armour Come good fellow, put mine iron on: If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her: come. CLEOPATRA Nay, I'll help too. What's this for? MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou shouldst see A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier 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. Soldier A thousand, sir, Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish Enter Captains and Soldiers Captain The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. All Good morrow, general. MARK 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: rebukeable Kisses her And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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. Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp. Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a Soldier meeting them Soldier The gods make this a happy day to Antony! MARK ANTONY Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd 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 Follow'd thy heels. MARK 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.' MARK ANTONY What say'st thou? Soldier Sir, He is with Caesar. EROS Sir, his chests and treasure He has not with him. MARK ANTONY Is he gone? Soldier Most certain. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is Antony be took alive; Make it so known. AGRIPPA Caesar, I shall. Exit OCTAVIUS CAESAR The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger Messenger Antony Is come into the field. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains Caesar hath hang'd 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. DOMITIUS 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 DOMITIUS 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 MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Thou bleed'st apace. SCARUS I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY I will reward thee Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. SCARUS I'll halt after. Exeunt SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS, with others MARK ANTONY We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole. To SCARUS Give me thy hand Enter CLEOPATRA, attended To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee. To CLEOPATRA O thou day o' the world, Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? MARK ANTONY My 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 to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. CLEOPATRA I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. MARK ANTONY He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach. Exeunt SCENE IX. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Sentinels at their post First Soldier If we be not relieved within this hour, We must return to the court of guard: the night Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. Second Soldier This last day was A shrewd one to's. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS O, bear me witness, night,-- Third Soldier What man is this? Second Soldier Stand close, and list him. DOMITIUS 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! First Soldier Enobarbus! Third Soldier Peace! Hark further. DOMITIUS 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 Second Soldier Let's speak To him. First Soldier Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Third Soldier Let's do so. But he sleeps. First Soldier Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Second Soldier Go we to him. Third Soldier Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Second Soldier Hear you, sir? First Soldier The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Third Soldier Come on, then; He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body SCENE X. Between the two camps. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army MARK ANTONY Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. SCARUS For both, my lord. MARK ANTONY I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld 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 same. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army OCTAVIUS 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 same. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS MARK ANTONY Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers 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. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight Re-enter MARK ANTONY MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone. 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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, 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? MARK ANTONY Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well 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' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit SCENE XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd. CHARMIAN To the 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 the 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 the monument! Exeunt SCENE XIV. The same. Another room. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS MARK ANTONY Eros, thou yet behold'st me? EROS Ay, noble lord. MARK ANTONY Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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, MARK 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. MARK 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 annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword. MARDIAN No, Antony; My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely. MARK ANTONY Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! She hath betray'd 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 render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. MARK ANTONY Dead, then? MARDIAN Dead. MARK ANTONY Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. To MARDIAN That thou depart'st hence safe, Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit MARDIAN Off, pluck off: The seven-fold 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! Re-enter EROS EROS What would my lord? MARK ANTONY Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd 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 The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strikest 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? MARK ANTONY Eros, Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued? EROS I would not see't. MARK 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! MARK ANTONY When I did make thee free, sworest 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. MARK ANTONY Lo thee! Turning from him EROS My sword is drawn. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY 'Tis said, man; and farewell. EROS Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? MARK ANTONY Now, Eros. EROS Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Kills himself MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! Enter DERCETAS and Guard First Guard What's the noise? MARK ANTONY I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end Of what I have begun. Second Guard The star is fall'n. First Guard And time is at his period. All Alas, and woe! MARK ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead. First Guard Not I. Second Guard Nor I. Third Guard Nor any one. Exeunt Guard DERCETAS 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? DERCETAS There, Diomed there. DIOMEDES Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS MARK 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. MARK ANTONY When did she send thee? DIOMEDES Now, my lord. MARK ANTONY Where is she? DIOMEDES Lock'd 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. MARK 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 MARK ANTONY MARK 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! MARK 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 MARK ANTONY SCENE XV. The same. 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, Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument; His guard have brought him thither. Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard CLEOPATRA O sun, Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. MARK ANTONY Peace! Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. CLEOPATRA So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! MARK ANTONY I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay up thy lips. CLEOPATRA I dare not, dear,-- Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooch'd 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. MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,-- Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come; They heave MARK 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! MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence. MARK ANTONY One word, sweet queen: Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! CLEOPATRA They do not go together. MARK ANTONY Gentle, hear me: None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. CLEOPATRA My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Caesar. MARK 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' the world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. 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, MARK ANTONY dies The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body ACT V SCENE I. Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest Appear thus to us? DERCETAS I am call'd Dercetas; 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR What is't thou say'st? DERCETAS I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. OCTAVIUS 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. DERCETAS 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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. OCTAVIUS 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. MECAENAS 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 touch'd. MECAENAS When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O Antony! I have follow'd 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-- But I will tell you at some meeter season: Enter an Egyptian 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. OCTAVIUS 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 live To be ungentle. Egyptian So the gods preserve thee! Exit OCTAVIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius? All Dolabella! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employ'd: 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 dug, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS and Soldiers PROCULEIUS Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face. PROCULEIUS This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied Of him that caused it. GALLUS You see how easily she may be surprised: Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the monument by a ladder placed against a window, and, having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates To PROCULEIUS and the Guard Guard her till Caesar come. Exit 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 betray'd. CLEOPATRA What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? PROCULEIUS Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty by The 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 Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA If it might please ye,-- 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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above The element they lived in: in his livery Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As plates dropp'd from his pocket. DOLABELLA Cleopatra! CLEOPATRA Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? DOLABELLA Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were, one such, It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine And 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't. Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there: Octavius Caesar!' Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which is the Queen of Egypt? DOLABELLA It is the emperor, madam. CLEOPATRA kneels OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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' the 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. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted. Where's 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. CLEOPATRA See, Caesar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! 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! OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man, Thou wouldst have mercy on me. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Cleopatra, Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged, Put we i' the 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 cheer'd; 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not so. Adieu. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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. Re-enter DOLABELLA DOLABELLA Where is 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 perform'd 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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore. IRAS O the good gods! CLEOPATRA Nay, that's certain. IRAS I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. CLEOPATRA Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents. Re-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. Wherefore's this noise? Exit IRAS. A noise within Enter a Guardsman Guard 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. Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket Guard 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 Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. CLEOPATRA Get thee hence; farewell. Clown I wish you all joy of the worm. Setting down his 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 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' the worm. Exit Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; And golden Phoebus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in First Guard Where is 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! Dies Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar!' Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching DOLABELLA O sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bravest at the last, She levell'd 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Poison'd, 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 dropp'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O noble weakness! If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. OCTAVIUS 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 The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO BERNARDO Who's there? FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. BERNARDO Long live the king! FRANCISCO Bernardo? BERNARDO He. FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour. BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring. BERNARDO Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there? Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO Give you good night. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place. Give you good night. Exit MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo! BERNARDO Say, What, is Horatio there? HORATIO A piece of him. BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO Sit down awhile; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story What we have two nights seen. HORATIO Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. BERNARDO Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one,-- Enter Ghost MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO See, it stalks away! HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit Ghost MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer. BERNARDO 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 the 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, Dared 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 seized 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 covenant, 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 romage in the land. BERNARDO 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.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! Re-enter Ghost 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: Cock crows 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! Stop it, Marcellus. MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan? HORATIO Do, if it will not stand. BERNARDO 'Tis here! HORATIO 'Tis here! MARCELLUS 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. BERNARDO 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, The 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 dares 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 to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-- Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with the 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, Voltimand, 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 delated articles allow. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND In that and all things will we show our duty. KING CLAUDIUS We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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 My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation, Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. KING CLAUDIUS Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? LORD 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS '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 persever 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 to-day, '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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO 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 mine 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 pray thee, 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 baked 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 awhile 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 Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 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, distilled 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'd. HAMLET Did you not speak to it? HORATIO My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its 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 to-night? MARCELLUS BERNARDO We do, my lord. HAMLET Arm'd, say you? MARCELLUS BERNARDO Arm'd, my lord. HAMLET From top to toe? MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 amazed you. HAMLET Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? HORATIO While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again. HORATIO I warrant 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 to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All Our duty to your honour. HAMLET Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. Exeunt all but HAMLET My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Exit SCENE III. A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 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 disclosed, 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 the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. 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. LORD 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 thee! And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are 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 ownself 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. 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 LORD POLONIUS What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you? OPHELIA So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. LORD 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. LORD 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. LORD 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 importuned me with love In honourable fashion. LORD 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. LORD 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 somewhat 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. HAMLET No, it is struck. HORATIO Indeed? I heard it not: then it 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 to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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: But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-- Their 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 eale 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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath oped 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 I will follow it. HORATIO Do not, my lord. HAMLET Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life in 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 ruled; 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. Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 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. Another part of the platform. Enter GHOST and HAMLET HAMLET Where 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 sulphurous 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 confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAMLET O my prophetic soul! My 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 moved, 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 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, Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me. Exit HAMLET O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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. MARCELLUS HORATIO [Within] My lord, my lord,-- MARCELLUS [Within] Lord Hamlet,-- HORATIO [Within] Heaven secure him! HAMLET So be it! HORATIO [Within] Hillo, 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 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 has business and desire, Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night. HORATIO 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 [Beneath] Swear. HAMLET Ah, ha, boy! say'st 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' the 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 headshake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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! They swear So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to 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' house. Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO LORD POLONIUS Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. REYNALDO I will, my lord. LORD POLONIUS You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, Before you visit him, to make inquire Of his behavior. REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it. LORD POLONIUS Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire 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. 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. LORD POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing: you may go so far. REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonour him. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this? REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that. LORD POLONIUS Marry, sir, here's my drift; And I believe, it is a fetch of wit: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured 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. 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.' LORD POLONIUS At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry; He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say, There was a' 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. LORD POLONIUS God be wi' you; fare you well. REYNALDO Good my lord! LORD POLONIUS Observe his inclination in yourself. REYNALDO I shall, my lord. LORD POLONIUS And let him ply his music. REYNALDO Well, my lord. LORD POLONIUS Farewell! Exit REYNALDO Enter OPHELIA How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? OPHELIA O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! LORD POLONIUS With what, i' the name of God? OPHELIA My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 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. LORD POLONIUS Mad for thy love? OPHELIA My lord, I do not know; But truly, I do fear it. LORD 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 raised 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 helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. LORD 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 fetters and denied His access to me. LORD POLONIUS That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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 call it, Sith nor the 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 the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, being of so young days brought up with him, And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior, 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 GERTRUDE 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 But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. KING CLAUDIUS Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 practises Pleasant and helpful to him! QUEEN GERTRUDE Ay, amen! Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. KING CLAUDIUS Thou still hast been the father of good news. LORD POLONIUS Have I, my lord? I assure 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 used to do, that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. KING CLAUDIUS O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. LORD POLONIUS Give first admittance to the ambassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. KING CLAUDIUS Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. Exit POLONIUS He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. QUEEN GERTRUDE I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. KING CLAUDIUS Well, we shall sift him. Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS Welcome, my good friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? VOLTIMAND 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 grieved, 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 the 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, Giving 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 CLAUDIUS It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS LORD 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 GERTRUDE More matter, with less art. LORD 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 while 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. Thus: Reads 'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.' QUEEN GERTRUDE Came this from Hamlet to her? LORD 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 shown me, And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means and place, All given to mine ear. KING CLAUDIUS But how hath she Received his love? LORD POLONIUS What do you think of me? KING CLAUDIUS As of a man faithful and honourable. LORD POLONIUS I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing-- As I perceived 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 mourn for. KING CLAUDIUS Do you think 'tis this? QUEEN GERTRUDE It may be, very likely. LORD POLONIUS Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that-- That I have positively said 'Tis so,' When it proved otherwise? KING CLAUDIUS Not that I know. LORD POLONIUS [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise: If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. KING CLAUDIUS How may we try it further? LORD POLONIUS You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby. QUEEN GERTRUDE So he does indeed. LORD 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 CLAUDIUS We will try it. QUEEN GERTRUDE But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. LORD POLONIUS Away, I do beseech you, both away: I'll board him presently. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants Enter HAMLET, reading O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet? HAMLET Well, God-a-mercy. LORD POLONIUS Do you know me, my lord? HAMLET Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. LORD POLONIUS Not I, my lord. HAMLET Then I would you were so honest a man. LORD POLONIUS Honest, my lord! HAMLET Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. LORD POLONIUS That's very true, my lord. HAMLET For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? LORD POLONIUS I have, my lord. HAMLET Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't. LORD POLONIUS [Aside] How say you by that? 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. LORD POLONIUS What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET Between who? LORD POLONIUS I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. LORD 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. LORD 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 any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life. LORD POLONIUS Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET These tedious old fools! Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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 outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. ROSENCRANTZ 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, any thing, 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 [Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 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 humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not. HAMLET How comes it? do they grow rusty? ROSENCRANTZ Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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 LORD 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: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS The actors are come hither, my lord. HAMLET Buz, buz! LORD POLONIUS Upon mine honour,-- HAMLET Then came each actor on his ass,-- LORD 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! LORD POLONIUS What a treasure had he, my lord? HAMLET Why, 'One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.' LORD POLONIUS [Aside] Still on my daughter. HAMLET Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? LORD POLONIUS If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. HAMLET Nay, that follows not. LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last: comest 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 apiece 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 any thing 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 judgments 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 indict 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 the 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, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damned light To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. LORD 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 The 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' the 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 forged 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!' LORD 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?' LORD POLONIUS That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. First Player 'Run barefoot up and down, threatening 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'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 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.' LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more. HAMLET 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert. HAMLET God's bodykins, 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. LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs. HAMLET Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Exit 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 to-morrow 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 My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord! HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi' ye; Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN 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 wann'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' the 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! O, 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 To 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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. LORD POLONIUS 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties To hear and see the matter. KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. 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 CLAUDIUS 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 behaved, If 't be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself. KING CLAUDIUS [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 burthen! LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised 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 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 composed 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 no where 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 has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 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; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed 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, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS KING CLAUDIUS 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? LORD 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 placed, 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 CLAUDIUS It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt SCENE II. A hall in the castle. Enter HAMLET and 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, the 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed 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 mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous, 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! I will the king hear this piece of work? LORD POLONIUS And the queen too, and that presently. HAMLET Bid the players make haste. Exit POLONIUS Will you two help to hasten them? ROSENCRANTZ 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 coped 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 blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 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 to-night 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 seest that act afoot, 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 judgments 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. HAMLET No, nor mine now. To POLONIUS My lord, you played once i' the university, you say? LORD POLONIUS That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. HAMLET What did you enact? LORD POLONIUS I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 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 GERTRUDE Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. HAMLET No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. LORD POLONIUS [To KING CLAUDIUS] 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 these 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.' Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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. Exit HAMLET Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? OPHELIA 'Tis brief, my lord. HAMLET As woman's love. Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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 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 GERTRUDE The lady protests too much, methinks. HAMLET O, but she'll keep her word. KING CLAUDIUS Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't? HAMLET No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world. KING CLAUDIUS What do you call the play? HAMLET The Mouse-trap. 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 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. Enter LUCIANUS This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in 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 GERTRUDE How fares my lord? LORD POLONIUS Give o'er the play. KING CLAUDIUS Give me some light: away! All Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO HAMLET Why, let the stricken 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, perdy. Come, some music! Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration. HAMLET O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. 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 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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb is something musty. Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you cannot play upon me. Enter POLONIUS God bless you, sir! LORD 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? LORD POLONIUS By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. LORD POLONIUS It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET Or like a whale? LORD POLONIUS Very like a whale. HAMLET Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. LORD POLONIUS I will say so. HAMLET By and by is easily said. Exit POLONIUS 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 soever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit SCENE III. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. KING CLAUDIUS Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN We will haste us. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS 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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged, 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 the 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 KING CLAUDIUS [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit SCENE IV. The Queen's closet. Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS LORD 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 sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him. HAMLET [Within] Mother, mother, mother! QUEEN GERTRUDE I'll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. POLONIUS hides behind the arras Enter HAMLET HAMLET Now, mother, what's the matter? QUEEN GERTRUDE Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. HAMLET Mother, you have my father much offended. QUEEN GERTRUDE Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. HAMLET Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. QUEEN GERTRUDE Why, how now, Hamlet! HAMLET What's the matter now? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! LORD POLONIUS [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! HAMLET [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Makes a pass through the arras LORD POLONIUS [Behind] O, I am slain! Falls and dies QUEEN GERTRUDE O me, what hast thou done? HAMLET Nay, I know not: Is it the king? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE As kill a king! HAMLET Ay, lady, 'twas my word. Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. QUEEN GERTRUDE What have I done, that thou darest 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 GERTRUDE 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 judgment: and what judgment 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 ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Alas, he's mad! HAMLET Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed 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 GERTRUDE 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 hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this? HAMLET Do you see nothing there? QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves. HAMLET Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Exit Ghost QUEEN GERTRUDE This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE 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 devil, 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 to-night, 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 [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, Pointing to POLONIUS I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE 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 engineer 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. Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS ACT IV SCENE I. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves: You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? QUEEN GERTRUDE Bestow this place on us a little while. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! KING CLAUDIUS What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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 every one. 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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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. 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: 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 CLAUDIUS, attended KING CLAUDIUS 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 loved of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where tis so, the 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 relieved, 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 CLAUDIUS But where is he? ROSENCRANTZ Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. KING CLAUDIUS Bring him before us. ROSENCRANTZ Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? HAMLET At supper. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Alas, alas! HAMLET A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. KING CLAUDIUS What dost you mean by this? HAMLET Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. KING CLAUDIUS Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 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 CLAUDIUS Go seek him there. To some Attendants HAMLET He will stay till ye come. Exeunt Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. HAMLET For England! KING CLAUDIUS Ay, Hamlet. HAMLET Good. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: Away! for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the 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 congruing 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, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised 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. PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go softly on. Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others HAMLET Good sir, whose powers are these? Captain They are of Norway, sir. HAMLET How purposed, sir, I pray you? Captain Against some part of Poland. HAMLET Who commands them, sir? Captain The nephews 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 the imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. All's Well That Ends Well Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? LAFEU A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM I heard not of it before. LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it. HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU How understand we that? COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES Aside One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES Save you, fair queen! HELENA And you, monarch! PAROLLES No. HELENA And no. PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES Keep him out. HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ] There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother and a mistress and a friend, A phoenix, captain and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning place, and he is one-- PAROLLES What one, i' faith? HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- PAROLLES What's pity? HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Return us thanks. Enter Page Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES Under Mars, I. HELENA I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES Why under Mars? HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES When he was predominant. HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES Why think you so? HELENA You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES That's for advantage. HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. Exit HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove So show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease--my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. Exit SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. First Lord So 'tis reported, sir. KING Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial. First Lord His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's. KING I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. Second Lord You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord. KING If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM Thank your majesty. Exeunt. Flourish SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown COUNTESS I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clown 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS Well, sir. Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clown I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason? Clown Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. COUNTESS What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. COUNTESS You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS Well, now. Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Exit Steward Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. HELENA What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother: Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? HELENA That I am not. COUNTESS I say, I am your mother. HELENA Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. HELENA Good madam, pardon me! COUNTESS Do you love my son? HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress! COUNTESS Love you my son? HELENA Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- To go to Paris? HELENA Madam, I had. COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true. HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNTESS This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak. HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? HELENA There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour. COUNTESS Dost thou believe't? HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,--see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both Our hearts receive your warnings. KING Farewell. Come hither to me. Exit, attended First Lord O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars. BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' PAROLLES An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. First Lord There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES Commit it, count. Second Lord I am your accessary; and so, farewell. BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. First Lord Farewell, captain. Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. First Lord We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords PAROLLES Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? BERTRAM Stay: the king. Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM And I will do so. PAROLLES Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? KING No. LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, And write to her a love-line. KING What 'her' is this? LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA LAFEU Nay, come your ways. KING This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU Nay, come your ways: This is his majesty; say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. Exit KING Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found. KING I knew him. HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him: Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, And of his old experience the oily darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; And hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. KING We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you. Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back a again. KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think and think I know most sure My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING Are thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? HELENA The great'st grace lending grace Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. KING Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture? HELENA Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING Make thy demand. HELENA But will you make it even? KING Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING Here is my hand; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. COUNTESS I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me. COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time To entertain't so merrily with a fool. Clown O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: This is not much. Clown Not much commendation to them. COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me? Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. COUNTESS Haste you again. Exeunt severally SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM And so 'tis. LAFEU To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus. PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- PAROLLES Right; so I say. LAFEU That gave him out incurable,-- PAROLLES Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU Not to be helped,-- PAROLLES Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death. PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in--what do you call there? LAFEU A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. PAROLLES That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, I speak in respect-- PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- LAFEU Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES Ay, so I say. LAFEU In a most weak-- pausing and debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be-- pausing generally thankful. PAROLLES I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so. KING Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING Peruse them well: Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. All We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again.' KING Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? First Lord And grant it. HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love! Second Lord No better, if you please. HELENA My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir, And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. KING Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go. KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM I take her hand. KING Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES LAFEU [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master! LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES To any count, to all counts, to what is man. LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou't scarce worth. PAROLLES Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it. LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress. PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU Who? God? PAROLLES Ay, sir. LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-enter BERTRAM BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart? BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart? BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter HELENA and Clown HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well? Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clown Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA What two things? Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES Why, I say nothing. Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave. Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. PAROLLES Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA What's his will else? PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA What more commands he? PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will. PAROLLES I shall report it so. HELENA I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES Sir? LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? PAROLLES She is. BERTRAM Will she away to-night? PAROLLES As you'll have her. BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear. BERTRAM I think so. PAROLLES Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires Some private speech with you. BERTRAM I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you That presently you take our way for home; And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better than they seem And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to my mother: Giving a letter 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. HELENA Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that. HELENA And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM Well, what would you say? HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM What would you have? HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord: Faith yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. Exit HELENA Go thou toward home; where I will never come Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. First Lord Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. Second Lord Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE Be it his pleasure. First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE Welcome shall they be; And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clown By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? Clown E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! COUNTESS What is the matter? Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen First Gentleman Save you, good madam. HELENA Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Second Gentleman Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Reads When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? First Gentleman Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? Second Gentleman Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS Find you that there? HELENA Ay, madam. First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles, was it not? First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. First Gentleman Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. Second Gentleman We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near! Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. DUKE Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Steward COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Steward [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me: Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. COUNTESS What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger: When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger: My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. DIANA They say the French count has done most honourable service. Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. Tucket We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. DIANA You shall not need to fear me. Widow I hope so. Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port. HELENA Is this the way? Widow Ay, marry, is't. A march afar Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA Is it yourself? Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Widow You came, I think, from France? HELENA I did so. Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA His name, I pray you. DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. DIANA Whatsome'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: think you it is so? HELENA Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA What's his name? DIANA Monsieur Parolles. HELENA O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated: all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examined. DIANA Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleased. HELENA How do you mean? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow He does indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard In honestest defence. MARIANA The gods forbid else! Widow So, now they come: Drum and Colours Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA Which is the Frenchman? DIANA He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he loved his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA I like him well. DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave That leads him to these places: were I his lady, I would Poison that vile rascal. HELENA Which is he? DIANA That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. PAROLLES Lose our drum! well. MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Widow Marry, hang you! MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. HELENA I humbly thank you: Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. BOTH We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords Second Lord Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Second Lord On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Second Lord Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. First Lord It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him. First Lord None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. Second Lord I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. First Lord O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES Second Lord [Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. First Lord A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,--to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! First Lord That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES It might have been recovered. BERTRAM It might; but it is not now. PAROLLES It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. PAROLLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES I love not many words. Exit Second Lord No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do and dares better be damned than to do't? First Lord You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Second Lord None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. First Lord We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. Second Lord I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me. Second Lord As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord But you say she's honest. BERTRAM That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: Will you go see her? First Lord With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA and Widow HELENA If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Widow Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Widow I should believe you: For you have show'd me that which well approves You're great in fortune. HELENA Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Widow Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is passed already. Widow I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves; for he persists As if his life lay on't. HELENA Why then to-night Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush Second Lord He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter. First Soldier Good captain, let me be the interpreter. Second Lord Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? First Soldier No, sir, I warrant you. Second Lord But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? First Soldier E'en such as you speak to me. Second Lord He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. Second Lord This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. Second Lord Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Second Lord We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. Second Lord 'Twould not do. PAROLLES Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. Second Lord Hardly serve. PAROLLES Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. Second Lord How deep? PAROLLES Thirty fathom. Second Lord Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. Second Lord You shall hear one anon. PAROLLES A drum now of the enemy's,-- Alarum within Second Lord Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. They seize and blindfold him First Soldier Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES I know you are the Muskos' regiment: And I shall lose my life for want of language; If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Soldier Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES O! First Soldier O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. Second Lord Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Soldier The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES O, let me live! And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. First Soldier But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES If I do not, damn me. First Soldier Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within Second Lord Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. Second Soldier Captain, I will. Second Lord A' will betray us all unto ourselves: Inform on that. Second Soldier So I will, sir. Second Lord Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA She then was honest. BERTRAM So should you be. DIANA No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM No more o' that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM How have I sworn! DIANA 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, At least in my opinion. BERTRAM Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me. DIANA Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. DIANA Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault. BERTRAM Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers First Lord You have not given him his mother's letter? Second Lord I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man. First Lord He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. Second Lord Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. First Lord When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Second Lord He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. First Lord Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we! Second Lord Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. First Lord Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Second Lord Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. First Lord That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Second Lord We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. First Lord In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? Second Lord I hear there is an overture of peace. First Lord Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Second Lord What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? First Lord I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Second Lord Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. First Lord Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. Second Lord How is this justified? First Lord The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Second Lord Hath the count all this intelligence? First Lord Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. Second Lord I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. First Lord How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! Second Lord And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Messenger How now! where's your master? Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. Second Lord They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. First Lord They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. Second Lord If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. Second Lord Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Second Lord I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'? Second Lord His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me: hush, hush! First Lord Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa First Soldier He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em? PAROLLES I will confess what I know without constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. First Soldier Bosko chimurcho. First Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. First Soldier You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES And truly, as I hope to live. First Soldier [Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. First Soldier Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! First Lord You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Second Lord I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. First Lord He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES Poor rogues, I pray you, say. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. First Soldier [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM What shall be done to him? First Lord Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. First Soldier Well, that's set down. Reads 'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what do you know of it? PAROLLES I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly. First Soldier Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. First Soldier Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. First Lord Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. First Soldier What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. First Soldier Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters in my tent. First Soldier Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? PAROLLES I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well. First Lord Excellently. First Soldier [Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- PAROLLES That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. First Soldier Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. PAROLLES My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue! First Soldier [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. Second Lord This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. First Soldier I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. First Soldier We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? PAROLLES He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. First Lord I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. First Soldier What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. First Lord He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still. First Soldier His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. First Soldier What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? Second Lord Why does be ask him of me? First Soldier What's he? PAROLLES E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES [Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. PAROLLES O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him So, look about you: know you any here? BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on't yet PAROLLES Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers PAROLLES Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA HELENA That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be before our welcome. Widow Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown LAFEU No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. Clown I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Clown A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU Your distinction? Clown I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. LAFEU So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clown And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown At your service. LAFEU No, no, no. Clown Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU Who's that? a Frenchman? Clown Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU What prince is that? Clown The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clown I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clown If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy. COUNTESS So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. COUNTESS It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together. LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that. Clown But it is your carbonadoed face. LAFEU Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clown Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants HELENA But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. Gentleman And you. HELENA Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gentleman I have been sometimes there. HELENA I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gentleman What's your will? HELENA That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. Gentleman The king's not here. HELENA Not here, sir! Gentleman Not, indeed: He hence removed last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gentleman This I'll do for you. HELENA And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following PAROLLES Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clown Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. LAFEU And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. PAROLLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me! LAFEU Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. Trumpets sound The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. PAROLLES I praise God for you. Exeunt SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants KING We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. Gentleman I shall, my liege. Exit KING What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? LAFEU All that he is hath reference to your highness. KING Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU He looks well on't. KING I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING Well excused: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. BERTRAM gives a ring By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM Hers it was not. KING Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never Receive the ring again. KING Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM She never saw it. KING Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And makest conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize BERTRAM My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded KING I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman Gentleman Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. KING [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. KING The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded KING I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter Widow and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING Come hither, count; do you know these women? BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? DIANA Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. DIANA Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. KING What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. COUNTESS He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring's a thousand proofs. KING Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. LAFEU I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant BERTRAM What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? KING She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA I must be patient: You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet; Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM I have it not. KING What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. DIANA And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA Ay, my lord. KING Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING How, I pray you? PAROLLES He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING How is that? PAROLLES He loved her, sir, and loved her not. KING As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. LAFEU He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA Do you know he promised me marriage? PAROLLES Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? PAROLLES Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA Ay, my good lord. KING Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? DIANA It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING Who lent it you? DIANA It was not lent me neither. KING Where did you find it, then? DIANA I found it not. KING If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA I never gave it him. LAFEU This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. KING This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. DIANA It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA I'll never tell you. KING Take her away. DIANA I'll put in bail, my liege. KING I think thee now some common customer. DIANA By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? DIANA Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. KING She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. DIANA Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: Exit Widow The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA KING Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon! HELENA O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: To PAROLLES Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. To DIANA If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish EPILOGUE KING The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt As You Like It Shakespeare homepage | As You Like It | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother. ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here? ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. OLIVER What mar you then, sir? ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? OLIVER Know you where your are, sir? ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. OLIVER Know you before whom, sir? ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OLIVER What, boy! ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OLIVER Let me go, I say. ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog. ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS DENNIS Calls your worship? OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. OLIVER Call him in. Exit DENNIS 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES CHARLES Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. OLIVER Where will the old duke live? CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder. CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so God keep your worship! OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. Exit CHARLES Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. Exit SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? CELIA Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then? CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. CELIA 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE CELIA No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. CELIA Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. ROSALIND With his mouth full of news. CELIA Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter LE BEAU Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA Sport! of what colour? LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you? ROSALIND As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE Or as the Destinies decree. CELIA Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank,-- ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND You tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,-- CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men by these presents.' LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND Alas! TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants DUKE FREDERICK Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND Is yonder the man? LE BEAU Even he, madam. CELIA Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can tell you; there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK Do so: I'll not be by. LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA And mine, to eke out hers. ROSALIND Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you! CELIA Your heart's desires be with you! CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK You shall try but one fall. CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. ROSALIND Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. They wrestle ROSALIND O excellent young man! CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. Shout. CHARLES is thrown DUKE FREDERICK No more, no more. ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK I would thou hadst been son to some man else: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: I would thou hadst told me of another father. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU CELIA Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND Gentleman, Giving him a chain from her neck Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA Will you go, coz? ROSALIND Have with you. Fare you well. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause and love, Yet such is now the duke's condition That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous; what he is indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, Grounded upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Exit LE BEAU Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: But heavenly Rosalind! Exit SCENE III. A room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word? ROSALIND Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA But is all this for your father? ROSALIND No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. CELIA Hem them away. ROSALIND I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. CELIA Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! CELIA O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? ROSALIND The duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? ROSALIND Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. CELIA With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. ROSALIND Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness. DUKE FREDERICK Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. ROSALIND Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. ROSALIND So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish'd him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. CELIA Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords CELIA O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND I have more cause. CELIA Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? ROSALIND That he hath not. CELIA No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. ROSALIND Why, whither shall we go? CELIA To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. ROSALIND Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA I'll put myself in poor and mean attire And with a kind of umber smirch my face; The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-- We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? CELIA Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. AMIENS Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? Second Lord We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR Show me the place: I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. First Lord I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. Second Lord My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me; I'll make him find him: do this suddenly, And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting ORLANDO Who's there? ADAM What, my young master? O, my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO Why, what's the matter? ADAM O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son-- Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father-- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practises. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; And all this I give you. Let me be your servant: Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry But come thy ways; well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Aliena! CELIA I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. ROSALIND Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. TOUCHSTONE And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE Holla, you clown! ROSALIND Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN Who calls? TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. CORIN Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succor. CORIN Fair sir, I pity her And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see. And in my voice most welcome shall you be. ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt SCENE V. The Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others SONG. AMIENS Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. AMIENS My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you. JAQUES I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos? AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you. JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun All together here And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS And I'll sing it. JAQUES Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS What's that 'ducdame'? JAQUES 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. Exeunt severally SCENE VI. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt SCENE VII. The forest. A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws DUKE SENIOR I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. First Lord My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song. DUKE SENIOR If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES First Lord He saves my labour by his own approach. DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. JAQUES It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The 'why' is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not of my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it. DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have That to your wanting may be minister'd. ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. DUKE SENIOR Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. JAQUES All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. ORLANDO I thank you most for him. ADAM So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. DUKE SENIOR Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. SONG. AMIENS Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing, & c. DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER DUKE FREDERICK Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth Of what we think against thee. OLIVER O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Exit Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CORIN And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN No, truly. TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned. CORIN Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance. CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. CORIN Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading ROSALIND From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. ROSALIND Out, fool! TOUCHSTONE For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. ROSALIND I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing ROSALIND Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. CELIA [Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. ROSALIND O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people!' CELIA How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA Didst thou hear these verses? ROSALIND O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. CELIA That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. CELIA Trow you who hath done this? ROSALIND Is it a man? CELIA And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? ROSALIND I prithee, who? CELIA O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. ROSALIND Nay, but who is it? CELIA Is it possible? ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! ROSALIND Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that may drink thy tidings. CELIA So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard. ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. CELIA I' faith, coz, 'tis he. ROSALIND Orlando? CELIA Orlando. ROSALIND Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. ROSALIND It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed. CELIA There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CELIA Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. ROSALIND O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CELIA I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CELIA You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES ROSALIND 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. JAQUES I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. JAQUES God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can. ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. JAQUES Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO Yes, just. JAQUES I do not like her name. ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. JAQUES What stature is she of? ORLANDO Just as high as my heart. JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings? ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery. ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love. ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. JAQUES I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO Very well: what would you? ROSALIND I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? ROSALIND By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal. ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal. ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO Who stays it still withal? ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. ORLANDO Are you native of this place? ROSALIND As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it. ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them. ROSALIND No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy. ROSALIND There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO What were his marks? ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth. ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. ROSALIND Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth. ROSALIND Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind TOUCHSTONE Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? AUDREY Your features! Lord warrant us! what features! TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. JAQUES [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house! TOUCHSTONE When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUDREY I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? TOUCHSTONE No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. AUDREY Would you not have me honest? TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. JAQUES [Aside] A material fool! AUDREY Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. JAQUES [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy! TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? C ourage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the woman? TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES [Advancing] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. JAQUES Will you be married, motley? TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. TOUCHSTONE 'Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,-- O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee: but,-- Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY SIR OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. Exit SCENE IV. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND Never talk to me; I will weep. CELIA Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep? CELIA As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CELIA Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND Do you think so? CELIA Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND Not true in love? CELIA Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA Well, and what of him? CORIN If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind PHEBE I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS O dear Phebe, If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. PHEBE But till that time Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed-- Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. PHEBE Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHEBE For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN PHEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,-- PHEBE Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me. PHEBE Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. PHEBE Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS I would have you. PHEBE Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. PHEBE Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHEBE Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Between the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart. PHEBE I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. The forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND They say you are a melancholy fellow. JAQUES I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND Why then, 'tis good to be a post. JAQUES I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES Yes, I have gained my experience. ROSALIND And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too! Enter ORLANDO ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit ROSALIND Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO Of a snail? ROSALIND Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO What's that? ROSALIND Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND And I am your Rosalind. CELIA It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO What, of my suit? ROSALIND Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND Well in her person I say I will not have you. ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die. ROSALIND No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. ROSALIND By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO What sayest thou? ROSALIND Are you not good? ORLANDO I hope so. ROSALIND Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us. CELIA I cannot say the words. ROSALIND You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' CELIA Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO I will. ROSALIND Ay, but when? ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged. ROSALIND Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO For ever and a day. ROSALIND Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO O, but she is wise. ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. ROSALIND Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA And I'll sleep. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? A Lord Sir, it was I. JAQUES Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? Forester Yes, sir. JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. SONG. Forester What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it. ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention and his hand. SILVIUS Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. ROSALIND She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS Call you this railing? ROSALIND [Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. SILVIUS Call you this chiding? CELIA Alas, poor shepherd! ROSALIND Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit SILVIUS Enter OLIVER OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There's none within. OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.' Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLIVER Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND I am: what must we understand by this? OLIVER Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain'd. CELIA I pray you, tell it. OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. ROSALIND But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked. CELIA Are you his brother? ROSALIND Wast you he rescued? CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER 'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. ROSALIND But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER By and by. When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place:-- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. ROSALIND swoons CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! OLIVER Look, he recovers. ROSALIND I would I were at home. CELIA We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man's heart. ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter WILLIAM WILLIAM Good even, Audrey. AUDREY God ye good even, William. WILLIAM And good even to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM William, sir. TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so. TOUCHSTONE 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM No, sir. TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. WILLIAM Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this female,--which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY Do, good William. WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir. Exit Enter CORIN CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away! TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? OLIVER Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke and all's contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND God save you, brother. OLIVER And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO It is my arm. ROSALIND I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that. ROSALIND O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger. ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings? ROSALIND By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array: bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. PHEBE Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. ROSALIND I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. PHEBE Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And so am I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And so am I for no woman. PHEBE If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ROSALIND Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: To ORLANDO I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: To SILVIUS I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live. PHEBE Nor I. ORLANDO Nor I. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages First Page Well met, honest gentleman. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. Second Page We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Second Page I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, & c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, & c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, & c. TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. First Page You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt SCENE IV. The forest. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA DUKE SENIOR Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE ROSALIND Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here? DUKE SENIOR That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. ROSALIND You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? PHEBE That will I, should I die the hour after. ROSALIND But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? PHEBE So is the bargain. ROSALIND You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY JAQUES There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all! JAQUES Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. JAQUES And how was that ta'en up? TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. JAQUES How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR I like him very well. TOUCHSTONE God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. JAQUES Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA Still Music HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. ROSALIND [To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours. To ORLANDO To you I give myself, for I am yours. DUKE SENIOR If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! ROSALIND I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. HYMEN Peace, ho! I bar confusion: 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! DUKE SENIOR O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. PHEBE I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS JAQUES DE BOYS Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. DUKE SENIOR Welcome, young man; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. JAQUES Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? JAQUES DE BOYS He hath. JAQUES To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE SENIOR You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: To ORLANDO You to a love that your true faith doth merit: To OLIVER You to your land and love and great allies: To SILVIUS You to a long and well-deserved bed: To TOUCHSTONE And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay. JAQUES To see no pastime I what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. A dance EPILOGUE ROSALIND It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. Exeunt The Comedy of Errors Shakespeare homepage | Comedy of Errors | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die. AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed 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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased 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 meaner 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 embraced, 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, Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd 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, Dispersed 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 SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON 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 encounterd 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 seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt SCENE II. The Mart. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant First 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 dinner-time: 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 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? First 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 bed-time: 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. First Merchant Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit 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, falling 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 to-day. 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 darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE 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 undisposed: 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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit 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. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad. When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain; Would that alone, alone 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, and 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. A public place. 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 received 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 displeased. 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. Beating him 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 demeanor 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: an 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 trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'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, Want wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 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-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! 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. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR 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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR 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, Cicel, 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 [Within] 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 [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. LUCE [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Let my master in, Luce. LUCE [Within] 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 [Within] Have at you with another; that's--When? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? OF EPHESUS LUCE [Within] I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Master, knock the door hard. LUCE [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. LUCE [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? ADRIANA [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Are you there, wife? you might have come before. ADRIANA [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 there 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You have prevailed: 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. To Angelo 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. The First part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others KING HENRY IV 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; Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets 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 moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north and thus it did import: On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the 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 HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 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 call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath 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 HENRY IV 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. London. An apartment of the Prince's. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? PRINCE HENRY 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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY What, none? FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HENRY 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 fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt. FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 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 HENRY Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HENRY Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF Why, that's well said. PRINCE HENRY Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 vizards we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. PRINCE HENRY 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 lies the jest. PRINCE HENRY Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. POINS Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins PRINCE HENRY I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked 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 behavior 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, glittering 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. London. The palace. Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others KING HENRY IV 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. EARL OF 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 HENRY IV 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 You were about to speak. To North 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 misprison 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, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, 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 sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre 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 answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. SIR WALTER BLUNT The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV 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 but 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, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. KING HENRY IV 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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. Exeunt 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. Re-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 Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 wished 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, An 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-- EARL OF 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 he 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! EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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; Forbad 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure. HOTSPUR I have done, i' faith. EARL OF 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. You, my lord, To Northumberland 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? EARL OF 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? EARL OF WORCESTER And so they shall. HOTSPUR In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds fleas like a loach. First Carrier What, ostler! come away and be hanged! Second Carrier I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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 gentleman: they will along with company, for they have great charge. Exeunt carriers GADSHILL What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain [Within] 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. Enter Chamberlain 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 St. 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 Trojans that thou dreamest 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, cocksure; 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 highway, near Gadshill. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS POINS Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. PRINCE HENRY Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! PRINCE HENRY Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! FALSTAFF Where's Poins, Hal? PRINCE HENRY He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him. 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 squier 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 hath 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 HENRY Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? FALSTAFF Go, 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, BARDOLPH and PETO GADSHILL Stand. FALSTAFF So I do, against my will. POINS O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news? BARDOLPH Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? FALSTAFF Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. PRINCE HENRY Well, we leave that to the proof. POINS Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. FALSTAFF Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. PRINCE HENRY Ned, where are our disguises? POINS Here, hard by: stand close. Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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! Travellers Jesus 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. Travellers 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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY 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. 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. PRINCE HENRY Your money! POINS Villains! As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them PRINCE HENRY 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 rogue roar'd! Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth castle Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night. 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 cursed 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 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 by 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, An 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. God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY It must of force. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. POINS Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE HENRY With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet 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 under-skinker, 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. POINS Francis! PRINCE HENRY Thou art perfect. POINS Francis! Exit POINS Enter FRANCIS FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. PRINCE HENRY Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-- POINS [Within] Francis! FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner Poins! Re-enter POINS POINS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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. Re-enter FRANCIS What's o'clock, Francis? FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Exit PRINCE HENRY 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 to-day?' '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; FRANCIS following 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? He drinks PRINCE HENRY 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 villanous 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 live 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 any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 to-day. PRINCE HENRY O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. FALSTAFF All's one for that. He drinks A plague of all cowards, still say I. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Where is it, Jack? where is it? FALSTAFF Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE HENRY 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 hand-saw--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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,-- FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,-- FALSTAFF 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,-- PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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 HENRY Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord the prince! PRINCE HENRY How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, do, Jack. FALSTAFF 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit FALSTAFF PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY '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 HENRY 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 rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE HENRY I do. BARDOLPH What think you they portend? PRINCE HENRY Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE HENRY No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-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 o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,-- PRINCE HENRY He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF You have hit it. PRINCE HENRY So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. PRINCE HENRY Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE HENRY Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY 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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY 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 three score; 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I do, I will. A knocking heard Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH Re-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. Re-enter the Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord, my lord! PRINCE HENRY 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 mad, without seeming so. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Call in the sheriff. Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house. PRINCE HENRY What men? Sheriff One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier As fat as butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing 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 HENRY 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 HENRY I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sheriff Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers What hast thou found? PETO Nothing but papers, my lord. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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. Exeunt PETO Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III SCENE I. Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the 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 distemperature, 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's 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, To-morrow, 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, Not shall we need his help these fourteen days. 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 damm'd 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. EARL OF 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 alter'd. 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 axle-tree; 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 GLENDOWER MORTIMER Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! HOTSPUR I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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. EARL OF WORCESTER In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside 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. Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies MORTIMER This is the deadly spite that angers me; My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER My daughter weeps: she will 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same GLENDOWER She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks 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 learned 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. The lady speaks 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 is so humorous. By'r lady, he is 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 HOTSPUR 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'st 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 red-breast 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. The palace. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others KING HENRY IV 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 HENRY 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, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. KING HENRY IV 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 doth 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 capering 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself. KING HENRY IV 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 swathling 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 near'st 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 HENRY 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 HENRY IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. SIR WALTER 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 the state. KING HENRY IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; 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. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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! The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel,-- the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. FALSTAFF Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked a' should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant Page Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF Wait, close; I will not see him. Lord Chief-Justice What's he that goes there? Servant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Lord Chief-Justice He that was in question for the robbery? Servant He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Chief-Justice What, to York? Call him back again. Servant Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Lord Chief-Justice I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Servant Sir John! FALSTAFF What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Servant You mistake me, sir. FALSTAFF Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Servant I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Servant Sir, my lord would speak with you. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. FALSTAFF My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Lord Chief-Justice I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you. FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Lord Chief-Justice What tell you me of it? be it as it is. FALSTAFF It hath its original from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. Lord Chief-Justice I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. FALSTAFF Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Lord Chief-Justice To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. FALSTAFF I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. Lord Chief-Justice I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. FALSTAFF As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Lord Chief-Justice Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Lord Chief-Justice You have misled the youthful prince. FALSTAFF The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Lord Chief-Justice Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. FALSTAFF My lord? Lord Chief-Justice But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Lord Chief-Justice What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Lord Chief-Justice There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Lord Chief-Justice You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Lord Chief-Justice Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have chequed him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God send the prince a better companion! FALSTAFF God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. FALSTAFF Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Lord Chief-Justice Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Lord Chief-Justice Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant FALSTAFF If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page Sir? FALSTAFF What money is in my purse? Page Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. Exit Page A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? MOWBRAY I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied How in our means we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. HASTINGS Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. LORD BARDOLPH The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? HASTINGS With him, we may. LORD BARDOLPH Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. LORD BARDOLPH It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. HASTINGS But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. LORD BARDOLPH Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. HASTINGS Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. LORD BARDOLPH What, is the king but five and twenty thousand? HASTINGS To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HASTINGS If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. LORD BARDOLPH Who is it like should lead his forces hither? HASTINGS The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Let us on, And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard lived, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed! Past and to come seems best; things present worst. MOWBRAY Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? HASTINGS We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. London. A street. Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following. MISTRESS QUICKLY Master Fang, have you entered the action? FANG It is entered. MISTRESS QUICKLY Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? FANG Sirrah, where's Snare? MISTRESS QUICKLY O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. SNARE Here, here. FANG Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. MISTRESS QUICKLY Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. MISTRESS QUICKLY No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. FANG An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,-- MISTRESS QUICKLY I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH FALSTAFF How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter? FANG Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. FALSTAFF Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the channel. MISTRESS QUICKLY Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. FALSTAFF Keep them off, Bardolph. FANG A rescue! a rescue! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! FALSTAFF Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men Lord Chief-Justice What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. Lord Chief-Justice How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time and business? You should have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him? MISTRESS QUICKLY O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Lord Chief-Justice For what sum? MISTRESS QUICKLY It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. FALSTAFF I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Lord Chief-Justice How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? FALSTAFF What is the gross sum that I owe thee? MISTRESS QUICKLY Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. FALSTAFF My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the town that the eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and in person. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, in truth, my lord. Lord Chief-Justice Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. FALSTAFF My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Lord Chief-Justice You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this poor woman. FALSTAFF Come hither, hostess. Enter GOWER Lord Chief-Justice Now, Master Gower, what news? GOWER The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. MISTRESS QUICKLY Faith, you said so before. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it. MISTRESS QUICKLY By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. FALSTAFF Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. MISTRESS QUICKLY Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! FALSTAFF Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still. MISTRESS QUICKLY Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together? FALSTAFF Will I live? To BARDOLPH Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on. MISTRESS QUICKLY Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? FALSTAFF No more words; let's have her. Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy Lord Chief-Justice I have heard better news. FALSTAFF What's the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Where lay the king last night? GOWER At Basingstoke, my lord. FALSTAFF I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Come all his forces back? GOWER No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. FALSTAFF Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Lord Chief-Justice You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. FALSTAFF My lord! Lord Chief-Justice What's the matter? FALSTAFF Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? GOWER I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. FALSTAFF Will you sup with me, Master Gower? Lord Chief-Justice What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John? FALSTAFF Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Lord Chief-Justice Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool. Exeunt SCENE II. London. Another street. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Before God, I am exceeding weary. POINS Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. PRINCE HENRY Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? POINS Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition. PRINCE HENRY Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. POINS How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? PRINCE HENRY Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? POINS Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. PRINCE HENRY It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. POINS Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. PRINCE HENRY Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too. POINS Very hardly upon such a subject. PRINCE HENRY By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. POINS The reason? PRINCE HENRY What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? POINS I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. PRINCE HENRY It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? POINS Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff. PRINCE HENRY And to thee. POINS By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page PRINCE HENRY And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. BARDOLPH God save your grace! PRINCE HENRY And yours, most noble Bardolph! BARDOLPH Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? Page A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. PRINCE HENRY Has not the boy profited? BARDOLPH Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Page Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! PRINCE HENRY Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? Page Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. PRINCE HENRY A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy. POINS O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. BARDOLPH An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. PRINCE HENRY And how doth thy master, Bardolph? BARDOLPH Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you. POINS Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master? BARDOLPH In bodily health, sir. POINS Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. PRINCE HENRY I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes. POINS [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' PRINCE HENRY Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter. POINS [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. PRINCE HENRY Peace! POINS [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.' My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. PRINCE HENRY That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister? POINS God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. PRINCE HENRY Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? BARDOLPH Yea, my lord. PRINCE HENRY Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? BARDOLPH At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY What company? Page Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. PRINCE HENRY Sup any women with him? Page None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. PRINCE HENRY What pagan may that be? Page A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. PRINCE HENRY Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? POINS I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. PRINCE HENRY Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. BARDOLPH I have no tongue, sir. Page And for mine, sir, I will govern it. PRINCE HENRY Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. POINS I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. PRINCE HENRY How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? POINS Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. PRINCE HENRY From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY NORTHUMBERLAND I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! let them alone: The marshal and the archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way: Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers First Drawer What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. Second Drawer Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that. First Drawer Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. Second Drawer Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. First Drawer By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem. Second Drawer I'll see if I can find out Sneak. Exit Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET MISTRESS QUICKLY I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? DOLL TEARSHEET Better than I was: hem! The Life of King Henry the Fifth Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Exit SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged, Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of farther question. ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands which men devout By testament have given to the church Would they strip from us; being valued thus: As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil. A hundred almshouses right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill. ELY This would drink deep. CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all. ELY But what prevention? CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard. ELY And a true lover of the holy church. CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment Consideration, like an angel, came And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat and all at once As in this king. ELY We are blessed in the change. CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity, And all-admiring with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain, His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscured his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected. ELY But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? CANTERBURY He seems indifferent, Or rather swaying more upon our part Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; For I have made an offer to his majesty, Upon our spiritual convocation And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France, to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord? CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty; Save that there was not time enough to hear, As I perceived his grace would fain have done, The severals and unhidden passages Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms And generally to the crown and seat of France Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. ELY What was the impediment that broke this off? CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? ELY It is. CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Presence chamber. Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? EXETER Not here in presence. KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle. WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved, Before we hear him, of some things of weight That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne And make you long become it! KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why the law Salique that they have in France Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; For never two such kingdoms did contend Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord; For we will hear, note and believe in heart That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, That owe yourselves, your lives and services To this imperial throne. There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Then doth it well appear that Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly supposed the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, To find his title with some shows of truth, 'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. KING HENRY V May I with right and conscience make this claim? CANTERBURY The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, When the man dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back into your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English. that could entertain With half their forces the full Pride of France And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action! ELY Awake remembrance of these valiant dead And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. EXETER Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. WESTMORELAND They know your grace hath cause and means and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. CANTERBURY O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood and sword and fire to win your right; In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. KING HENRY V We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. CANTERBURY They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. KING HENRY V We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force, Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. CANTERBURY She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege; For hear her but exampled by herself: When all her chivalry hath been in France And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. WESTMORELAND But there's a saying very old and true, 'If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin:' For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. EXETER It follows then the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home; For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. CANTERBURY Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. KING HENRY V Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. Exeunt some Attendants Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. First Ambassador May't please your majesty to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? KING HENRY V We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. First Ambassador Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says that you savour too much of your youth, And bids you be advised there's nought in France That can be with a nimble galliard won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there. He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. KING HENRY V What treasure, uncle? EXETER Tennis-balls, my liege. KING HENRY V We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present and your pains we thank you for: When we have march'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, Be like a king and show my sail of greatness When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty And plodded like a man for working-days, But I will rise there with so full a glory That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten and unborn That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, To venge me as I may and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors EXETER This was a merry message. KING HENRY V We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected and all things thought upon That may with reasonable swiftness add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flourish ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed! Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nym. NYM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. BARDOLPH What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? NYM For my part, I care not: I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. NYM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. NYM I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter PISTOL and Hostess BARDOLPH Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol! PISTOL Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Hostess No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. NYM and PISTOL draw O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. BARDOLPH Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. NYM Pish! PISTOL Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Hostess Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. NYM Will you shog off? I would have you solus. PISTOL 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. NYM I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it. PISTOL O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. Draws PISTOL An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall. NYM I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it. PISTOL 'Couple a gorge!' That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to. Enter the Boy Boy Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. BARDOLPH Away, you rogue! Hostess By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy BARDOLPH Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? PISTOL Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! NYM You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL Base is the slave that pays. NYM That now I will have: that's the humour of it. PISTOL As manhood shall compound: push home. They draw BARDOLPH By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. PISTOL Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. BARDOLPH Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. NYM I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. NYM I shall have my noble? PISTOL In cash most justly paid. NYM Well, then, that's the humour of't. Re-enter Hostess Hostess As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. NYM The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. PISTOL Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. NYM The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. PISTOL Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND BEDFORD 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. EXETER They shall be apprehended by and by. WESTMORELAND How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. EXETER Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants KING HENRY V Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY V I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE Never was monarch better fear'd and loved Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY V We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. KING HENRY V We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him. SCROOP That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY V O, let us yet be merciful. CAMBRIDGE So may your highness, and yet punish too. GREY Sir, You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. KING HENRY V Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested, Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punished. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners? CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord: Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP So did you me, my liege. GREY And I, my royal sovereign. KING HENRY V Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. GREY SCROOP To which we all appeal. KING HENRY V The mercy that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law; And God acquit them of their practises! EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. SCROOP Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. CAMBRIDGE For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. GREY Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY V God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers Received the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy Hostess Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. BARDOLPH Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. NYM They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Ay, that a' did. BARDOLPH And of women. Hostess Nay, that a' did not. Boy Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils incarnate. Hostess A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy A' said once, the devil would have him about women. Hostess A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? BARDOLPH Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. NYM Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy c rystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy And that's but unwholesome food they say. PISTOL Touch her soft mouth, and march. BARDOLPH Farewell, hostess. Kissing her NYM I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. PISTOL Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. Hostess Farewell; adieu. Exeunt SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace. Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others KING OF FRANCE Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. DAUPHIN My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems: So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth. KING OF FRANCE Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger Messenger Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. KING OF FRANCE We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. DAUPHIN Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train KING OF FRANCE From our brother England? EXETER From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line, In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. KING OF FRANCE Or else what follows? EXETER Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. KING OF FRANCE For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. DAUPHIN For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: what to him from England? EXETER Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. DAUPHIN Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. KING OF FRANCE To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. KING OF FRANCE You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions: A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum, and chambers go off And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders KING HENRY V Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off SCENE II. The same. Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PISTOL And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN FLUELLEN Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward PISTOL Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! NYM These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy Boy As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. FLUELLEN It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER I think it be. FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY GOWER Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. FLUELLEN God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? MACMORRIS By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! JAMY By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation-- MACMORRIS Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? FLUELLEN Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY A! that's a foul fault. A parley sounded GOWER The town sounds a parley. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Before the gates. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train KING HENRY V How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? GOVERNOR Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible. KING HENRY V Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Flourish. The King and his train enter the town SCENE IV. The FRENCH KING's palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE KATHARINE Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. ALICE Un peu, madame. KATHARINE Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois? ALICE La main? elle est appelee de hand. KATHARINE De hand. Et les doigts? ALICE Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres. KATHARINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. KATHARINE De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. ALICE C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. KATHARINE Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras. ALICE De arm, madame. KATHARINE Et le coude? ALICE De elbow. KATHARINE De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHARINE Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. ALICE De elbow, madame. KATHARINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? ALICE De neck, madame. KATHARINE De nick. Et le menton? ALICE De chin. KATHARINE De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin. ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. KATHARINE Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. ALICE N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHARINE Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de fingres, de mails-- ALICE De nails, madame. KATHARINE De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. KATHARINE Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? ALICE De foot, madame; et de coun. KATHARINE De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. ALICE Excellent, madame! KATHARINE C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others KING OF FRANCE 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? BOURBON Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! Poor we may call them in their native lords. DAUPHIN By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BOURBON They bid us to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; Saying our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. KING OF FRANCE Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence: Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Constable This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear And for achievement offer us his ransom. KING OF FRANCE Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty. KING OF FRANCE Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, lord constable and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but did see him do as gallant service. GOWER What do you call him? FLUELLEN He is called Aunchient Pistol. GOWER I know him not. Enter PISTOL FLUELLEN Here is the man. PISTOL Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. PISTOL Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone-- FLUELLEN By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. FLUELLEN Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. The First part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright-- Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter to them another Messenger Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun. Enter another Messenger Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face. BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation. Exit GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor, And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves: Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or fly. Exeunt Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I! Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone. ALENCON Be it so. Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. CHARLES Go, call her in. Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS But first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern: By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash. JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou darest, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms: Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence. JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon And fightest with the sword of Deborah. JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out. JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously? First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector? First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here? GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats BISHOP OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this? GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I'll use to carry thee out of this place. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face. GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard, I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince. GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst, Cry. Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt SCENE IV. Orleans. Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Exit Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame: My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a linstock SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one and view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next. GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Thou shalt not die whiles-- He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.' Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? Enter a Messenger Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Here they fight TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. A short alarum Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Alarum. Here another skirmish It will not be: retire into your trenches: You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? TALBOT A maid, they say. BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial! BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner. BURGUNDY And I to this. TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault! Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so? BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend! At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure. REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord. CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in? JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. Exit SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him? Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company? BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. Whispers You perceive my mind? Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Porter Madam, I will. Exit COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and TALBOT Messenger Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Messenger Madam, it is. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter with keys COUNTESS The Second part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 2 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task and was espoused: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received. KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And over-joy of heart doth minister. KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech, Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; Such is the fulness of my heart's content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all. Flourish SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father'-- Lets the paper fall KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now! GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent over of the King of England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down: We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for the great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, Undoing all, as all had never been! CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy. But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery: For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu! YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives: And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have stayed in France and starved in France, Before-- CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: It was the pleasure of my lord the King. GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings. Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir apparent to the English crown: Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay: I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal: His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o' the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: Join we together, for the public good, In what we can, to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country! YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main. WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain, Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, While all is shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own: So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; And in my standard bear the arms of York To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows. DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me And on my head did set the diadem. GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more! DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque'd. GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter Messenger Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee and I. Enter HUME HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty! DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your grace's title shall be multiplied. DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? HUME This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him. DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban's we do make return, We'll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;' Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me? First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine? First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here! Reads 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. SUFFOLK Who is there? Enter Servant Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. Exit Servant with PETER QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Tears the supplication Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. ALL Come, let's be gone. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king? What shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester's governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, And placed a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd the regentship. SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field. BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all. SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this. QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women's matters. QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be protector of his excellence? GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?-- The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck; The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not? She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman: Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. Exit BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit Re-enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law: But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick! WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason: Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these? SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown And that your majesty was a usurper. KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words? HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigor of the law. HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent over the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant's malice: This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty. HORNER And I accept the combat willingly. PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, and leave us. Exit HUME Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear the sooner the better. BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth Spirit Adsum. MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' Reading out of a paper Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end. BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' Spirit Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this? Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close. And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. Stafford, take her to thee. Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away! Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? Reads 'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.' Why, this is just 'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' Well, to the rest: 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.' Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardly attain'd, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servingman Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy. CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. GLOUCESTER As who, my lord? SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord, An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester. KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the matter; In thine own person answer thy abuse. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if thou darest, This evening, on the east side of the grove. KING HENRY VI How now, my lords! CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport. Aside to GLOUCESTER Come with thy two-hand sword. GLOUCESTER True, uncle. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the east side of the grove? GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Aside to CARDINAL Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum-- Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!' GLOUCESTER What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Townsman A miracle! a miracle! SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife Ay, indeed, was he. SUFFOLK What woman is this? Wife His wife, an't like your worship. GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born? SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. CARDINAL What, art thou lame? SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me! SUFFOLK How camest thou so? SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree. Wife A plum-tree, master. GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind? SIMPCOX Born so, master. GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree? SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood. GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see. GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife Never, before this day, in all his life. GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not. GLOUCESTER What's his name? SIMPCOX I know not. GLOUCESTER Nor his? SIMPCOX No, indeed, master. GLOUCESTER What's thine own name? SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightest as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again? SIMPCOX O master, that you could! GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently. Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. Exit an Attendant GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. Enter a Beadle with whips GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!' KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run. GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away. GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BUCKINGHAM KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers: Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy-council; As more at large your grace shall understand. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart: Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest. And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have loved my king and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is, but if she have forgot Honour and virtue and conversed with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here: To-morrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly And call these foul offenders to their answers And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself, In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England's crown. SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full. WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. YORK Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth: Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reign'd. SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir. YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March: Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest. YORK His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days: Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king. Exeunt SCENE III. A hall of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution: The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days' open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee: I cannot justify whom the law condemns. Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go, Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert protector to thy King. QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England's realm. Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: As willingly do I the same resign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once; His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it; and God defend the right! YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter! First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid. Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already. SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? PETER Peter, forsooth. SALISBURY Peter! what more? PETER Thump. SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow! YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. Dies YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For his death we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. Sound a flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what's o'clock? Servants Ten, my lord. GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month. GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit Herald My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell! DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state. DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully? STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady; According to that state you shall be used. DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go? STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, And when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual. SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? YORK And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted. BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall. QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he's disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SOMERSET SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign! KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done! YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here. GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God! YORK In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny. GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else. SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent. GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness' land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide. GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak. BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded The Third part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 3 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. Throwing down SOMERSET's head YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. They go up WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK I am thine. EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-- Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? YORK What then? KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I. CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter! WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! Sennet. Here they come down YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came. Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt SCENE II. Sandal Castle. Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK About what? RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK What, with five thousand men? RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him! Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! Exit, dragged off by Soldiers CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- Lifting his hand RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD Thy father hath. RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. Stabs him RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! Dies CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A short alarum within Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. They lay hands on YORK, who struggles CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Putting a paper crown on his head Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Stabbing him QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. Stabbing him YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. Dies QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger WARWICK How now! what news? Messenger The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt SCENE II. Before York. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets QUEEN MARGARET Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger Messenger Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers EDWARD Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward. EDWARD No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. Exeunt SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE GEORGE Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD RICHARD Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD RICHARD Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone KING HENRY VI This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body Son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body Father Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body Father These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY VI Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER PRINCE EDWARD Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt SCENE VI. Another part of the field. A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded CLIFFORD Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. He faints Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers EDWARD Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. CLIFFORD groans, and dies EDWARD Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A forest in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands First Keeper Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook KING HENRY VI From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt SCENE II. London. The palace. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY KING EDWARD IV Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! KING EDWARD IV Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD IV How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. KING EDWARD IV 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire KING EDWARD IV Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. LADY GREY Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. KING EDWARD IV But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. KING EDWARD IV [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty: One way or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-- Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? LADY GREY 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. KING EDWARD IV Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman Nobleman My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day. SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? NORFOLK I thank your grace, Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren. NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? BUCKINGHAM All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. NORFOLK Then you lost The view of earthly glory: men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. To-day the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this masque Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise: and, being present both 'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-- For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed. BUCKINGHAM O, you go far. NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. BUCKINGHAM Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord? NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth. NORFOLK Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied For eminent assistants; but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: whence has he that, If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. BUCKINGHAM Why the devil, Upon this French going out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. ABERGAVENNY I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. BUCKINGHAM O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? NORFOLK Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. BUCKINGHAM Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy; That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. NORFOLK Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore The ambassador is silenced? NORFOLK Marry, is't. ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased At a superfluous rate! BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. NORFOLK Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you-- And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety--that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said, It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? First Secretary Here, so please you. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready? First Secretary Ay, please your grace. CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood. NORFOLK What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks Matter against me; and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object: at this instant He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king; I'll follow and outstare him. NORFOLK Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim There's difference in no persons. NORFOLK Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. BUCKINGHAM Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not but From sincere motions, by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. NORFOLK Say not 'treasonous.' BUCKINGHAM To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't; his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-- Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. NORFOLK Faith, and so it did. BUCKINGHAM Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o' the combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,-- Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt-- For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview betwixt England and France might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,-- Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made, And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. NORFOLK I am sorry To hear this of him; and could wish he were Something mistaken in't. BUCKINGHAM No, not a syllable: I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof. Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard BRANDON Your office, sergeant; execute it. Sergeant Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. BUCKINGHAM Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practise. BRANDON I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. BUCKINGHAM It will help me nothing To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things! I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well! BRANDON Nay, he must bear you company. The king To ABERGAVENNY Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. ABERGAVENNY As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd! BRANDON Here is a warrant from The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-- BUCKINGHAM So, so; These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope. BRANDON A monk o' the Chartreux. BUCKINGHAM O, Nicholas Hopkins? BRANDON He. BUCKINGHAM My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side KING HENRY VIII My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him QUEEN KATHARINE Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. KING HENRY VIII Arise, and take place by us: half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will and take it. QUEEN KATHARINE Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. KING HENRY VIII Lady mine, proceed. QUEEN KATHARINE I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been commissions Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions, yet the king our master-- Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. NORFOLK Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among then! KING HENRY VIII Taxation! Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? CARDINAL WOLSEY Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me. QUEEN KATHARINE No, my lord, You know no more than others; but you frame Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. KING HENRY VIII Still exaction! The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? QUEEN KATHARINE I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths: Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. KING HENRY VIII By my life, This is against our pleasure. CARDINAL WOLSEY And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State-statues only. KING HENRY VIII Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is question'd send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission: pray, look to't; I put it to your care. CARDINAL WOLSEY A word with you. To the Secretary Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. Exit Secretary Enter Surveyor QUEEN KATHARINE I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. KING HENRY VIII It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-- This was his gentleman in trust--of him Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. KING HENRY VIII Speak freely. Surveyor First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, that if the king Should without issue die, he'll carry it so To make the sceptre his: these very words I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced Revenge upon the cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. QUEEN KATHARINE My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. KING HENRY VIII Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surveyor He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. KING HENRY VIII What was that Hopkins? Surveyor Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor, who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. KING HENRY VIII How know'st thou this? Surveyor Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he, 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs, Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke Shall govern England.' QUEEN KATHARINE If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. KING HENRY VIII Let him on. Go forward. Surveyor On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forged him some design, which, being believed, It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, It can do me no damage;' adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. KING HENRY VIII Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further? Surveyor I can, my liege. KING HENRY VIII Proceed. Surveyor Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reproved the duke About Sir William Blomer,-- KING HENRY VIII I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surveyor 'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife to him.' KING HENRY VIII A giant traitor! CARDINAL WOLSEY Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, and this man out of prison? QUEEN KATHARINE God mend all! KING HENRY VIII There's something more would out of thee; what say'st? Surveyor After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,' He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo His father by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. KING HENRY VIII There's his period, To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none, Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, He's traitor to the height. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain and SANDS Chamberlain Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? SANDS New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Chamberlain As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage is but merely A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. SANDS They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it, That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. Chamberlain Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter LOVELL How now! What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? LOVELL Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Chamberlain What is't for? LOVELL The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Chamberlain I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. LOVELL They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those remnants Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable point of ignorance Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. SANDS 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Chamberlain What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! LOVELL Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. SANDS The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, Held current music too. Chamberlain Well said, Lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. SANDS No, my lord; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Chamberlain Sir Thomas, Whither were you a-going? LOVELL To the cardinal's: Your lordship is a guest too. Chamberlain O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. LOVELL That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Chamberlain No doubt he's noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. SANDS He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal; They are set here for examples. Chamberlain True, they are so: But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else; which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford This night to be comptrollers. SANDS I am your lordship's. Exeunt SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD GUILDFORD Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates To fair content and you: none here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Chamberlain You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. SANDS Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. LOVELL O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these! SANDS I would I were; They should find easy penance. LOVELL Faith, how easy? SANDS As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Chamberlain Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze; Two women placed together makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies. SANDS By my faith, And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies: If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. ANNE Was he mad, sir? SANDS O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Kisses her Chamberlain Well said, my lord. So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. SANDS For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state CARDINAL WOLSEY You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome; And to you all, good health. Drinks SANDS Your grace is noble: Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. CARDINAL WOLSEY My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this? SANDS The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em Talk us to silence. ANNE You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sands. SANDS Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,-- ANNE You cannot show me. SANDS I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged CARDINAL WOLSEY What's that? Chamberlain Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant CARDINAL WOLSEY What warlike voice, And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant Chamberlain How now! what is't? Servant A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. CARDINAL WOLSEY Good lord chamberlain, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and once more I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him A noble company! what are their pleasures? Chamberlain Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with 'em. CARDINAL WOLSEY Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE KING HENRY VIII The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance CARDINAL WOLSEY My lord! Chamberlain Your grace? CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Chamberlain I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers CARDINAL WOLSEY What say they? Chamberlain Such a one, they all confess, There is indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. CARDINAL WOLSEY Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make My royal choice. KING HENRY VIII Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. CARDINAL WOLSEY I am glad Your grace is grown so pleasant. KING HENRY VIII My lord chamberlain, Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? Chamberlain An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter-- The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women. KING HENRY VIII By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber? LOVELL Yes, my lord. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. KING HENRY VIII I fear, too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. KING HENRY VIII Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. Exeunt with trumpets ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting First Gentleman Whither away so fast? Second Gentleman O, God save ye! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. First Gentleman I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. Second Gentleman Were you there? First Gentleman Yes, indeed, was I. Second Gentleman Pray, speak what has happen'd. First Gentleman You may guess quickly what. Second Gentleman Is he found guilty? First Gentleman Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. Second Gentleman I am sorry for't. First Gentleman So are a number more. Second Gentleman But, pray, how pass'd it? First Gentleman I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty and alleged Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney on the contrary Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired To have brought viva voce to his face: At which appear'd against him his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. Second Gentleman That was he That fed him with his prophecies? First Gentleman The same. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all Was either pitied in him or forgotten. Second Gentleman After all this, how did he bear himself? First Gentleman When he was brought again to the bar, to hear His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and sweetly In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. Second Gentleman I do not think he fears death. First Gentleman Sure, he does not: He never was so womanish; the cause He may a little grieve at. Second Gentleman Certainly The cardinal is the end of this. First Gentleman 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. Second Gentleman That trick of state Was a deep envious one. First Gentleman At his return No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, And generally, whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. Second Gentleman All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, The mirror of all courtesy;-- First Gentleman Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people Second Gentleman Let's stand close, and behold him. BUCKINGHAM All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death; 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em: Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. LOVELL I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. BUCKINGHAM Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no black envy Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be! And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! LOVELL To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. VAUX Prepare there, The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. BUCKINGHAM Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first raised head against usurping Richard, Flying for succor to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all That made me happy at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me, A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train First Gentleman O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their beads That were the authors. Second Gentleman If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. First Gentleman Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? Second Gentleman This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. First Gentleman Let me have it; I do not talk much. Second Gentleman I am confident, You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the king and Katharine? First Gentleman Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor straight To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. Second Gentleman But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: to confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; As all think, for this business. First Gentleman 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. Second Gentleman I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. First Gentleman 'Tis woful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter Chamberlain 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: He will have all, I think. Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK Well met, my lord chamberlain. Chamberlain Good day to both your graces. SUFFOLK How is the king employ'd? Chamberlain I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK What's the cause? Chamberlain It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. SUFFOLK Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else. NORFOLK How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage: And out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? Chamberlain Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare Look into these affairs see this main end, The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. SUFFOLK And free us from his slavery. NORFOLK We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. SUFFOLK For me, my lords, I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud, the pope. NORFOLK Let's in; And with some other business put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My lord, you'll bear us company? Chamberlain Excuse me; The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships. NORFOLK Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, ha? NORFOLK Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? NORFOLK A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way Is business of estate; in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING HENRY VIII Ye are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king. To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us and it. To CARDINAL WOLSEY My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING HENRY VIII [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him? SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of: I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; Whom once more I present unto your highness. KING HENRY VIII And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves: They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING HENRY VIII Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? CARDINAL WOLSEY I know your majesty has always loved her So dear in heart, not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law: Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING HENRY VIII Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary: I find him a fit fellow. Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. GARDINER [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. KING HENRY VIII Come hither, Gardiner. Walks and whispers CARDINAL CAMPEIUS My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, he was. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Was he not held a learned man? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, surely. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY How! of me? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him, That he ran mad and died. CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment: I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING HENRY VIII Deliver this with modesty to the queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, Would it not grieve an able man to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. Enter ANNE and an Old Lady ANNE Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: His highness having lived so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old Lady Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. ANNE O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old Lady Our content Is our best having. ANNE By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old Lady Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy: You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. ANNE Nay, good troth. Old Lady Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? ANNE No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? ANNE No, in truth. Old Lady Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. ANNE How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old Lady In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter Chamberlain Chamberlain Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Chamberlain It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well. ANNE Now, I pray God, amen! Chamberlain You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. ANNE I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender; More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. Chamberlain Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The king hath of you. Aside I have perused her well; Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king: and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, And say I spoke with you. Exit Chamberlain ANNE My honour'd lord. Old Lady Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up Before you open it. ANNE This is strange to me. Old Lady How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? ANNE Come, you are pleasant. Old Lady With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! No other obligation! By my life, That promises moe thousands: honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess: say, Are you not stronger than you were? ANNE Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: pray, do not deliver What here you've heard to her. Old Lady What do you think me? Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage CARDINAL WOLSEY Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING HENRY VIII What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may, then, spare that time. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be't so. Proceed. Scribe Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier Henry King of England, & c. KING HENRY VIII Here. Scribe Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. Crier Katharine Queen of England, & c. QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable; Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry As I saw it inclined: when was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: if, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many A year before: it is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! CARDINAL WOLSEY You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS His grace Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produced and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE Lord cardinal, To you I speak. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induced by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me; Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. CARDINAL WOLSEY I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you or any: how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual: that again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judged by him. She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart CARDINAL CAMPEIUS The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. She's going away. KING HENRY VIII Call her again. Crier Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GRIFFITH Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants KING HENRY VIII Go thy ways, Kate: That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. CARDINAL WOLSEY Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloosed, although not there At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING HENRY VIII My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You're excused: But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it: on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't: My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business, Ere a determinate resolution, he, I mean the bishop, did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advertise Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forced such way, That many mazed considerings did throng And press'd in with this caution. First, methought I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If it conceived a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't than The grave does to the dead; for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together: that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,--which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,-- By all the reverend fathers of the land And doctors learn'd: first I began in private With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek, When I first moved you. LINCOLN Very well, my liege. KING HENRY VIII I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread, that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course Which you are running here. KING HENRY VIII I then moved you, My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons: unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on: For no dislike i' the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' the world. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. KING HENRY VIII [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. Exeunt in manner as they entered ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments. Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman QUEEN KATHARINE How now! Gentleman An't please your grace, the two great cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE Would they speak with me? Gentleman They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE Pray their graces To come near. Exit Gentleman What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS CARDINAL WOLSEY Peace to your highness! QUEEN KATHARINE Your graces find me here part of a housewife, I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? CARDINAL WOLSEY May it please you noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE Speak it here: There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner: would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not, so much I am happy Above a number, if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. CARDINAL WOLSEY Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-- QUEEN KATHARINE O, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English. CARDINAL WOLSEY Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. We come not by the way of accusation, To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, Forgetting, like a good man your late censure Both of his truth and him, which was too far, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE [Aside] To betray me.-- My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so! But how to make ye suddenly an answer, In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,-- More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking Either for such men or such business. For her sake that I have been,--for I feel The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces, Let me have time and counsel for my cause: Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE In England But little for my profit: can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here: They are, as all my other comforts, far hence In mine own country, lords. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS I would your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE How, sir? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Put your main cause into the king's protection; He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better and your cause; For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, You'll part away disgraced. CARDINAL WOLSEY He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries; I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye And all such false professors! would you have me-- If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? loved him next heaven? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. CARDINAL WOLSEY If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. QUEEN KATHARINE Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly; You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment. Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain NORFOLK If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: if you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, With these you bear already. SURREY I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be revenged on him. SUFFOLK Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person Out of himself? Chamberlain My lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me I know; What we can do to him, though now the time Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in's tongue. NORFOLK O, fear him not; His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. SURREY Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. NORFOLK Believe it, this is true: In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy. SURREY How came His practises to light? SUFFOLK Most strangely. SURREY O, how, how? SUFFOLK The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' SURREY Has the king this? SUFFOLK Believe it. SURREY Will this work? Chamberlain The king in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death: the king already Hath married the fair lady. SURREY Would he had! SUFFOLK May you be happy in your wish, my lord For, I profess, you have it. SURREY Now, all my joy Trace the conjunction! SUFFOLK My amen to't! NORFOLK All men's! SUFFOLK There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memorised. SURREY But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! NORFOLK Marry, amen! SUFFOLK No, no; There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried Ha! at this. Chamberlain Now, God incense him, And let him cry Ha! louder! NORFOLK But, my lord, When returns Cranmer? SUFFOLK He is return'd in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager And widow to Prince Arthur. NORFOLK This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business. SUFFOLK He has; and we shall see him For it an archbishop. NORFOLK So I hear. SUFFOLK 'Tis so. The cardinal! Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL NORFOLK Observe, observe, he's moody. CARDINAL WOLSEY The packet, Cromwell. Gave't you the king? CROMWELL To his own hand, in's bedchamber. CARDINAL WOLSEY Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? CROMWELL Presently He did unseal them: and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this morning. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he ready To come abroad? CROMWELL I think, by this he is. CARDINAL WOLSEY Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL Aside It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! NORFOLK He's discontented. SUFFOLK May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. SURREY Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice! CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. NORFOLK He is vex'd at something. SURREY I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord on's heart! Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL SUFFOLK The king, the king! KING HENRY VIII What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together! Now, my lords, Saw you the cardinal? NORFOLK My lord, we have Stood here observing him: some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple, straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. KING HENRY VIII It may well be; There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I required: and wot you what I found There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. NORFOLK It's heaven's will: Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. KING HENRY VIII If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven forgive me! Ever God bless your highness! KING HENRY VIII Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind; the which You were now running o'er: you have scarce time To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that I deem you an ill husband, and am glad To have you therein my companion. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business which I bear i' the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendence to. KING HENRY VIII You have said well. CARDINAL WOLSEY And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! KING HENRY VIII 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you: His said he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But pared my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] What should this mean? SURREY [Aside] The Lord increase this business! KING HENRY VIII Have I not made you, The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us or no. What say you? CARDINAL WOLSEY My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends Have been mine so that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. The Life and Death of King John Shakespeare homepage | King John | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. KING JOHN'S palace. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France In my behavior to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty, of England here. QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!' KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island and the territories, To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Which sways usurpingly these several titles, And put these same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this? CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The farthest limit of my embassy. KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath And sullen presage of your own decay. An honourable conduct let him have: Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said How that ambitious Constance would not cease Till she had kindled France and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented and made whole With very easy arguments of love, Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us. QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right, Or else it must go wrong with you and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. Enter a Sheriff ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy Come from country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? KING JOHN Let them approach. Our abbeys and our priories shall pay This expedition's charge. Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD What men are you? BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. KING JOHN What art thou? ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? You came not of one mother then, it seems. BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king; That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But for the certain knowledge of that truth I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother And wound her honour with this diffidence. BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea and none of mine; The which if he can prove, a' pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whether I be as true begot or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head, But that I am as well begot, my liege,-- Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-- Compare our faces and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both And were our father and this son like him, O old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father. With half that face would he have all my land: A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived, Your brother did employ my father much,-- BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there with the emperor To treat of high affairs touching that time. The advantage of his absence took the king And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, As I have heard my father speak himself, When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and took it on his death That this my mother's son was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, And if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf bred from his cow from all the world; In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force To dispossess that child which is not his? BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence and no land beside? BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Would I might never stir from off this place, I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case. QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? I am a soldier and now bound to France. BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither. BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way. KING JOHN What is thy name? BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, yours gave land. Now blessed by the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away! QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet! I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so. BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And I am I, howe'er I was begot. KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire; A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed For France, for France, for it is more than need. BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. Exeunt all but BASTARD A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'-- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective and too sociable For your conversion. Now your traveller, He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 'I shall beseech you'--that is question now; And then comes answer like an Absey book: 'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir;' 'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' And so, ere answer knows what question would, Saving in dialogue of compliment, And talking of the Alps and Apennines, The Pyrenean and the river Po, It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society And fits the mounting spirit like myself, For he is but a bastard to the time That doth not smack of observation; And so am I, whether I smack or no; And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement, But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady! What brings you here to court so hastily? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chase mine honour up and down? BASTARD My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. BASTARD James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? GURNEY Good leave, good Philip. BASTARD Philip! sparrow: James, There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more. Exit GURNEY Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? BASTARD Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; Legitimation, name and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? BASTARD As faithfully as I deny the devil. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father: By long and vehement suit I was seduced To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urged past my defence. BASTARD Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He that perforce robs lions of their hearts May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. France. Before Angiers. Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side: on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS, ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants LEWIS Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. ARTHUR God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death The rather that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. LEWIS A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? AUSTRIA Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love, That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages: We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England bring, That right in peace which here we urge in war, And then we shall repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON KING PHILIP A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arrived! What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. CHATILLON Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I; His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king's deceased, And all the unsettled humours of the land, Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make hazard of new fortunes here: In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did nearer float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. Drum beats The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. KING PHILIP How much unlook'd for is this expedition! AUSTRIA By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them be welcome then: we are prepared. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, Lords, and forces KING JOHN Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own; If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven. KING PHILIP Peace be to England, if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace. England we love; and for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king Cut off the sequence of posterity, Out-faced infant state and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? KING JOHN From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? KING PHILIP From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right: That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong And by whose help I mean to chastise it. KING JOHN Alack, thou dost usurp authority. KING PHILIP Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. QUEEN ELINOR Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? CONSTANCE Let me make answer; thy usurping son. QUEEN ELINOR Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world! CONSTANCE My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners; being as like As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. QUEEN ELINOR There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. CONSTANCE There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. AUSTRIA Peace! BASTARD Hear the crier. AUSTRIA What the devil art thou? BASTARD One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a' may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. BLANCH O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! BASTARD It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. AUSTRIA What craker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? KING PHILIP Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. LEWIS Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all; England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? KING JOHN My life as soon: I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. QUEEN ELINOR Come to thy grandam, child. CONSTANCE Do, child, go to it grandam, child: Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. ARTHUR Good my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that's made for me. QUEEN ELINOR His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. CONSTANCE Now shame upon you, whether she does or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed To do him justice and revenge on you. QUEEN ELINOR Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! CONSTANCE Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp The dominations, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. KING JOHN Bedlam, have done. CONSTANCE I have but this to say, That he is not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plague for her And with her plague; her sin his injury, Her injury the beadle to her sin, All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; a plague upon her! QUEEN ELINOR Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. CONSTANCE Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will: A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! KING PHILIP Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions. Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls First Citizen Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? KING PHILIP 'Tis France, for England. KING JOHN England, for itself. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-- KING PHILIP You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-- KING JOHN For our advantage; therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege All merciless proceeding by these French Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; And but for our approach those sleeping stones, That as a waist doth girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the sight of us your lawful king, Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a countercheque before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle; And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. KING PHILIP When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you Than the constraint of hospitable zeal In the relief of this oppressed child Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty which you truly owe To that owes it, namely this young prince: And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, We will bear home that lusty blood again Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls Can hide you from our messengers of war, Though all these English and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage And stalk in blood to our possession? First Citizen In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. First Citizen That can we not; but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal: till that time Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. KING JOHN Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- BASTARD Bastards, and else. KING JOHN To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- BASTARD Some bastards too. KING PHILIP Stand in his face to contradict his claim. First Citizen Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! KING PHILIP Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! BASTARD Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! To AUSTRIA Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA Peace! no more. BASTARD O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD Speed then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, with trumpets, to the gates French Herald You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet English Herald Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. First Citizen Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their powers, severally KING JOHN France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. KING PHILIP England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. BASTARD Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! KING JOHN Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? KING PHILIP Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? First Citizen The king of England; when we know the king. KING PHILIP Know him in us, that here hold up his right. KING JOHN In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. First Citizen A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. BASTARD By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'ld play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? KING JOHN Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers And lay this Angiers even to the ground; Then after fight who shall be king of it? BASTARD An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wronged as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other and pell-mell Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. KING PHILIP Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? KING JOHN We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. AUSTRIA I from the north. KING PHILIP Our thunder from the south Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. BASTARD O prudent discipline! From north to south: Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away! First Citizen Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. KING JOHN Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. First Citizen That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, Is niece to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete of, say he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. O, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in; And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can To our fast-closed gates; for at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance: but without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion, no, not Death himself In moral fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. BASTARD Here's a stay That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas, Talks as familiarly of roaring lions As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue: Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his But buffets better than a fist of France: Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. QUEEN ELINOR Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition, Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. First Citizen Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? KING PHILIP Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: what say you? KING JOHN If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, Except this city now by us besieged, Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich In titles, honours and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. KING PHILIP What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. LEWIS I do, my lord; and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye: Which being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow: I do protest I never loved myself Till now infixed I beheld myself Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. Whispers with BLANCH BASTARD Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be In such a love so vile a lout as he. BLANCH My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or if you will, to speak more properly, I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this; that nothing do I see in you, Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge, That I can find should merit any hate. KING JOHN What say these young ones? What say you my niece? BLANCH That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. KING JOHN Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? LEWIS Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly. KING JOHN Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. KING PHILIP It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. AUSTRIA And your lips too; for I am well assured That I did so when I was first assured. KING PHILIP Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel presently The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? I know she is not, for this match made up Her presence would have interrupted much: Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. LEWIS She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. KING PHILIP And, by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. KING JOHN We will heal up all; For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity: I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. Exeunt all but the BASTARD BASTARD Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, Who, having no external thing to lose But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world, The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, From a resolved and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And why rail I on this Commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm; But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit The Life and Death of Richard the Second Shakespeare homepage | Richard II | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. Exeunt SCENE IV. The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter BUSHY Bushy, what news? BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All Amen. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c JOHN OF GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY DUKE OF YORK The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. Exit, borne off by his Attendants KING RICHARD II And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND NORTHUMBERLAND My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit KING RICHARD II Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT NORTHUMBERLAND Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT BUSHY Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter GREEN GREEN God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY Despair not, madam. QUEEN Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter DUKE OF YORK GREEN Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK What is't, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Exit Servant Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. The Life and Death of Richard the Third Shakespeare homepage | Richard III | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER Upon what cause? CLARENCE Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER What news abroad? HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS He is. GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit HASTINGS He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER I grant ye. LADY ANNE Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE I hope so. GLOUCESTER I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE Name him. GLOUCESTER Plantagenet. LADY ANNE Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE Where is he? GLOUCESTER Here. She spitteth at him Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY RIVERS Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY GREY Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET GLOUCESTER They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET Richard! GLOUCESTER Ha! QUEEN MARGARET I call thee not. GLOUCESTER I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit HASTINGS My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER So do I ever: Aside being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Enter CATESBY CATESBY Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY BRAKENBURY Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! CLARENCE sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers First Murderer Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY reads it BRAKENBURY I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY Second Murderer What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer So I am, to let him live. First Murderer Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer A man, as you are. CLARENCE But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both To, to, to-- CLARENCE To murder me? Both Ay, ay. CLARENCE You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Ay, so we will. CLARENCE Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer What shall we do? CLARENCE Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer Take that, and that: if all this will not do, Stabs him I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body Second Murderer A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter First Murderer First Murderer How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. Exit First Murderer So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. ACT II SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others KING EDWARD IV Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS And so swear I, my lord They embrace KING EDWARD IV Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, To the Queen but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter DERBY DORSET A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET GLOUCESTER This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM We wait upon your grace. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE Boy Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK No, boy. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK Ay, boy. Boy I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF GLOUCESTER Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS And so say I. GLOUCESTER Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH DUCHESS OF YORK With all our harts. Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER BUCKINGHAM My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt SCENE III. London. A street. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen Third Citizen Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. The Tragedy of Coriolanus Shakespeare homepage | Coriolanus | Entire play 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 Marcius 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 particularise 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 Marcius? All 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 fort, 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 till 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' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All Come, come. First Citizen Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA 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 the 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' the 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 store-houses 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 Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the 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 answer'd-- 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 the 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 In 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 restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen Ye're long about it. MENENIUS Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: '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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st 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 MARCIUS Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd 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? MARCIUS They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd 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 answer'd, 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' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS What is granted them? MARCIUS 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 unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS This is strange. MARCIUS Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger, hastily Messenger Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS Here: what's the matter? Messenger The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS First Senator Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS You have fought together. MARCIUS Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS It is your former promise. MARCIUS 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 No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS O, true-bred! First Senator Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. To MARCIUS Right worthy you priority. COMINIUS Noble Marcius! First Senator [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone! MARCIUS Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS He has no equal. SICINIUS When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS Be-mock 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, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius 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 his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS Lets along. Exeunt SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate-house. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators 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 press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius 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 veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd 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 Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring 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 Marcius 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. A room in Marcius' house. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA 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 the 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 Marcius, 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 the 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 mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd 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, look'd 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 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 house-keepers. 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 school-master. 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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife 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 Corioli; 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 every thing 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 Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a Messenger MARCIUS Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS 'Tis done. LARTIUS Agreed. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS How far off lie these armies? Messenger Within this mile and half. MARCIUS 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 Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Drums 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 pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS O, they are at it! LARTIUS Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces MARCIUS 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. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing MARCIUS 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 abhorr'd Further 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 followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates 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. Enters the gates First Soldier Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier Nor I. MARCIUS is shut in First Soldier See, they have shut him in. All To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS LARTIUS What is become of Marcius? All Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd 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, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: 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 thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy First Soldier Look, sir. LARTIUS O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city SCENE V. Corioli. 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. Alarum continues still afar off Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! 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! 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. MARCIUS Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd 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! MARCIUS Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the 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. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger Thy news? Messenger The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS Though thou speak'st 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. COMINIUS Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS [Within] Come I too late? COMINIUS The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. Enter MARCIUS MARCIUS Come I too late? COMINIUS Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli 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 is he? call him hither. MARCIUS Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the 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. MARCIUS 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 smear'd; 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 Marcius. 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 obey'd. Please you to march; And four 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 Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with 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 the Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt SCENE VIII. A field of battle. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the 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 camest 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-- MARCIUS 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 vouch'd, 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. MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. 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. MARCIUS 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 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd 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 Marcius 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 Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums All Caius Marcius 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 the 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 Corioli 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 Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was with in my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS Marcius, 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 look'd to: come. 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! First Soldier 'Twill be deliver'd 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. First Soldier He's the devil. AUFIDIUS Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering 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 Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier Will not you go? AUFIDIUS I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier I shall, sir. Exeunt 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 to-night. BRUTUS Good or bad? MENENIUS Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS The lamb. MENENIUS Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Well, sir. MENENIUS In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the right-hand file? do you? Both Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS 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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA VIRGILIA Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow. MENENIUS True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body. MENENIUS One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald Herald Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! Kneels VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, 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 laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli 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 ye'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. 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, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily 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 temperately 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 I 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' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the 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 the 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 he 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 Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: 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 the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS Have with you. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions First Officer Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one 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 had 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 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, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. 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. To the Tribunes Masters o' the 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 offers to go away Nay, keep your place. First Senator Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS Sir, I hope My words disbench'd 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' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. 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 utter'd 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: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli 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 Re-quicken'd 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 call'd 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 kick'd at, And look'd 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 call'd for. First Senator Call Coriolanus. Officer He doth appear. Re-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 apart 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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. 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' the 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 block-head, 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 behavior. 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 every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All Content, content. Exeunt Citizens 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 roar'd and ran From the 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 CORIOLANUS Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. Re-enter two of the Citizens So, here comes a brace. Re-enter a third Citizen You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens Re-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 further. Both Citizens The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do. Re-enter three Citizens more Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd 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 Citizens Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Worthy voices! Re-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 the 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 summon'd 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 the 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 methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens 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 mock'd us when he begg'd 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 show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens 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 lesson'd, 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' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd 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 confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The 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' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] 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 the Capitol. All We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens 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 the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the 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 safe-guard 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 call'd 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' the 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 pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS Have I had children's voices? First Senator Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. 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 mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS Why, this was known before. BRUTUS Not to them all. CORIOLANUS Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS 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 paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd 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 tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS You speak o' the 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 here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the 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 learn'd, 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 frown 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 the other. COMINIUS Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the 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 nourish'd 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 That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson 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' the 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 barr'd, 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 the in 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 the 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' the dust. BRUTUS Manifest treason! SICINIUS This a consul? no. BRUTUS The aediles, ho! Enter an AEdile Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS Go, call the people: Exit AEdile in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS Hence, old goat! Senators, & C We'll surety him. COMINIUS Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS Help, ye citizens! Enter a rabble of Citizens (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! Citizens Down with him! down with him! Senators, & C Weapons, weapons, weapons! They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' '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 the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS Hear me, people; peace! Citizens Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 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? Citizens True, The people are the city. BRUTUS By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens 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' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS AEdiles, seize him! Citizens Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile Peace, peace! MENENIUS [To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately 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 No, I'll die here. Drawing his sword 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. COMINIUS Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens 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; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator Get you gone. COMINIUS Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS Sham 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: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd 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, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS Nay, come away. Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others A Patrician This man has marr'd 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! Second Patrician I would they were abed! MENENIUS I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble 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 nought. First Citizen He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens 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! Citizens 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 to-night. MENENIUS Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 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 dropp'd 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 the end o' the world. SICINIUS This is clean kam. BRUTUS Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 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 market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS I'll bring him to you. To the 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. A room in CORIOLANUS'S house. Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians CORIOLANUS Let them puff 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. A 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 show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS Let them hang. A Patrician Ay, and burn too. Enter MENENIUS and 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 counsell'd: 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o' the 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 the 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 unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 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 ask'd, 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. Here is Cominius. Enter COMINIUS COMINIUS I have been i' the market-place; 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 base tongue give 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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the 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 turn'd, Which quired 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 arm'd knees, Who bow'd 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 market-place; 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' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA Do your will. Exit 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. The same. 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 favour'd him. SICINIUS Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS Well, here he comes. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS, with Senators and Patricians MENENIUS Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd 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. Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens 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' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS Scratches with briers, 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 pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd 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 season'd 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' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd 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? Citizens To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, 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 banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the 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 not 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, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians AEdile The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! Shouting, and throwing 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. Citizens 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 extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd 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 conn'd them. VIRGILIA O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening 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 fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. 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' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS 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' the 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'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS Give me thy hand: Come. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street near the gate. Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile SICINIUS Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, 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. 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. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS VOLUMNIA O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the 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 BRUTUS Will you be gone? VIRGILIA [To SICINIUS] 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'ld 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 us 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 banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA Take my prayers with you. Exeunt Tribunes 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. MENENIUS Fie, fie, fie! Exeunt SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting 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 the 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 seem to wear one heart, Whose house, 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 birth-place 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. The same. A hall in Aufidius's house. Music within. Enter a Servingman First Servingman Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit Enter a second 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. Re-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. Re-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 thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him Third Servingman What fellow's this? First Servingman A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Retires 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 marvellous 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 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 dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS Under the canopy. Third Servingman Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS Ay. Third Servingman Where's that? CORIOLANUS I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Retires AUFIDIUS Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS If, Tullus, Unmuffling Not yet thou knowest 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 hast 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 Marcius, 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 devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd 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 fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest 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 follow'd 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 Marcius, Marcius! 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'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd 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 Sigh'd 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 fort: 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 Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the 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 The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two 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' the world. First Servingman I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. 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. Re-enter third Servingman Third Servingman O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman Second Servingman What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman Second Servingman Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 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 Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman But when goes this forward? Third Servingman To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a 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 spritely, waking, 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 SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with 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. Both Tribunes Hail sir! MENENIUS Hail to you both! SICINIUS Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, 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 Citizens The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was A worthy officer i' the 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 enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS Go see this rumourer whipp'd. 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 have 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 come 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 deliver'd. SICINIUS What more fearful? Messenger It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd 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 Marcius home again. SICINIUS The very trick on't. MENENIUS This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Enter a second Messenger Second Messenger You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd 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 Marcius should be join'd 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 up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS He will 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd 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 So incapable of help. Both 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' the 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 come 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. 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 Ye re 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 dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 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 us go. Exeunt SCENE VII. A camp, at a small distance from Rome. Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd 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 Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 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 the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To 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, and 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 call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd 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: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for 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 punish'd. MENENIUS Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS I offer'd 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 the 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 Marcius. MENENIUS Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 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 unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like 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 gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 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. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. Enter to them, MENENIUS First Senator Stay: whence are you? Second Senator 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 Senator From whence? MENENIUS From Rome. First Senator You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator 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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply 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 stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator 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 Senator 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, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS I am, as thy general is. First Senator 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 Senator Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS I mean, thy general. First Senator 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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone. 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 Gives a letter And would have rent 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. Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS First Senator Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye'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 Senator A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others CORIOLANUS We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd 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 a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd 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. Ha! what shout is this? Shout within Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 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 curt'sy 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.' 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 virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Kneels Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest! 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. Kneels CORIOLANUS What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 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 the 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' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld 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 To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; 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 nought 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS A' 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. Rising 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 show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 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 dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd 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; 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 bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 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 prevail'd, 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! 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. The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS CORIOLANUS Ay, by and by; To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, & c But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 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 corner-stone? 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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger SICINIUS What's the news? Second Messenger Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours 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 pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! Music still, with 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? Second Messenger Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS We will meet them, And help the joy. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate. Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, & c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others First 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 banish'd Marcius, 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' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; 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 enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Exeunt Attendants Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction Most welcome! First Conspirator How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd 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 banish'd 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd 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 enter'd 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 The 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? 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. AUFIDIUS He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him CORIOLANUS Hail, lords! I am return'd 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 Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS Marcius! AUFIDIUS Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd 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' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering 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 impress'd 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 dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 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 The People 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd 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' the 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! The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body 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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd 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 CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded The Life and Death of Julies Caesar Shakespeare homepage | Julius Caeser | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all the Commoners See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR Calpurnia! CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. CAESAR Calpurnia! CALPURNIA Here, my lord. CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. Antonius! ANTONY Caesar, my lord? CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Flourish Soothsayer Caesar! CAESAR Ha! who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face. CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I. CASSIUS I pray you, do. BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-- Among which number, Cassius, be you one-- Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. BRUTUS The games are done and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Re-enter CAESAR and his Train BRUTUS I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR Antonius! ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA CASCA You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day, That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting. BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too. CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too. BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony. BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound? CASCA He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. BRUTUS 'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness. CASSIUS No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS And after that, he came, thus sad, away? CASCA Ay. CASSIUS Did Cicero say any thing? CASCA Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS To what effect? CASCA Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the face again: but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. CASSIUS Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? CASCA No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS Will you dine with me to-morrow? CASCA Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS Good: I will expect you. CASCA Do so. Farewell, both. Exit BRUTUS What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you. CASSIUS I will do so: till then, think of the world. Exit BRUTUS Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus: If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit SCENE III. The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO CICERO Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? CASCA Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? CASCA A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 'These are their reasons; they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? CASCA He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. CICERO Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA Farewell, Cicero. Exit CICERO Enter CASSIUS CASSIUS Who's there? CASCA A Roman. CASSIUS Casca, by your voice. CASCA Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still CASCA So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. CASCA Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Enter CINNA Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS Am I not stay'd for? tell me. CINNA Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party-- CASSIUS Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit CINNA Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. BRUTUS's orchard. Enter BRUTUS BRUTUS What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS I will, my lord. Exit BRUTUS It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round. He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter BRUTUS Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS I know not, sir. BRUTUS Look in the calendar, and bring me word. LUCIUS I will, sir. Exit BRUTUS The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads 'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. 'Shall Rome, & c.' Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. Knocking within BRUTUS 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Exit LUCIUS Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS Is he alone? LUCIUS No, sir, there are moe with him. BRUTUS Do you know them? LUCIUS No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour. BRUTUS Let 'em enter. Exit LUCIUS They are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS CASSIUS I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? BRUTUS I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS He is welcome hither. CASSIUS This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS He is welcome too. CASSIUS This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS Shall I entreat a word? BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper DECIUS BRUTUS Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? CASCA No. CINNA O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,-- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA Let us not leave him out. CINNA No, by no means. METELLUS CIMBER O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS O, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. CASSIUS Then leave him out. CASCA Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS BRUTUS Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar-- BRUTUS Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company. TREBONIUS There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes BRUTUS Peace! count the clock. CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS Never fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? CINNA Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS CIMBER Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS Now, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but BRUTUS Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter PORTIA PORTIA Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart PORTIA If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Exit PORTIA Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS LUCIUS He is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? LIGARIUS Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. BRUTUS Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS Follow me, then. Exeunt SCENE II. CAESAR's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown CAESAR Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? Enter a Servant Servant My lord? CAESAR Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. Servant I will, my lord. Exit Enter CALPURNIA CALPURNIA What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. CAESAR Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he: We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible: And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house: And he shall say you are not well to-day: Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter DECIUS BRUTUS Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS BRUTUS Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. CAESAR And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA Say he is sick. CAESAR Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS BRUTUS Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR The cause is in my will: I will not come; That is enough to satisfy the senate. But for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know: Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS BRUTUS I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now: the senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 'Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'? Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS Good morrow, Caesar. CAESAR Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is 't o'clock? BRUTUS Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter ANTONY See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR Bid them prepare within: I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day: Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS Caesar, I will: Aside and so near will I be, That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. BRUTUS [Aside] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper ARTEMIDORUS 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, 'ARTEMIDORUS.' Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS. Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS PORTIA I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS To know my errand, madam. PORTIA I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? LUCIUS I hear none, madam. PORTIA Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer PORTIA Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been? Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA What is't o'clock? Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit PORTIA I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally ACT III SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others CAESAR [To the Soothsayer] The ides of March are come. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. ARTEMIDORUS Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. DECIUS BRUTUS Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. CAESAR What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following POPILIUS I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. CASSIUS What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS Fare you well. Advances to CAESAR BRUTUS What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him. CASSIUS Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS DECIUS BRUTUS Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS He is address'd: press near and second him. CINNA Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress? METELLUS CIMBER Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart,-- Kneeling CAESAR I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS CIMBER Is there no voice more worthy than my own To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR What, Brutus! CASSIUS Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CASSIUS I could be well moved, if I were as you: If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine, But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA O Caesar,-- CAESAR Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS BRUTUS Great Caesar,-- CAESAR Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA Speak, hands for me! CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR CAESAR Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar. Dies CINNA Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' BRUTUS People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. CASCA Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS BRUTUS And Cassius too. BRUTUS Where's Publius? CINNA Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS CIMBER Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance-- BRUTUS Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. CASSIUS And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS Do so: and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers. Re-enter TREBONIUS CASSIUS Where is Antony? TREBONIUS Fled to his house amazed: Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. CASSIUS Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!' CASSIUS Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS BRUTUS What, shall we forth? CASSIUS Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant BRUTUS Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Servant Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel: Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Servant I'll fetch him presently. Exit BRUTUS I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS I wish we may: but yet have I a mind That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. BRUTUS But here comes Antony. Re-enter ANTONY Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome-- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, To see thy thy Anthony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS Mark Antony,-- ANTONY Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS Brutus, a word with you. Aside to BRUTUS You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY Be it so. I do desire no more. BRUTUS Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but ANTONY ANTONY O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth-- O Caesar!-- Seeing the body ANTONY Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with CAESAR's body SCENE II. The Forum. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens Citizens We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. BRUTUS Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. King Lear Shakespeare homepage | King Lear | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. KENT Is not this your son, my lord? GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. KENT I cannot conceive you. GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? EDMUND No, my lord. GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. EDMUND My services to your lordship. KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better. EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving. GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,-- Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,-- Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. REGAN Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA Nothing, my lord. KING LEAR Nothing! CORDELIA Nothing. KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA Ay, good my lord. KING LEAR So young, and so untender? CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true. KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT Good my liege,-- KING LEAR Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown KENT Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,-- KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. KING LEAR Out of my sight! KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,-- KENT Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. KENT Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil. KING LEAR Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? BURGUNDY Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY I know no answer. KING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. KING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. KING LEAR Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. KING OF FRANCE Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. KING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. KING OF FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. KING LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA KING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. REGAN Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! KING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA GONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. REGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment. GONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let's hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN We shall further think on't. GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat. Exeunt SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Enter EDMUND, with a letter EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power! Confined to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news? EDMUND So please your lordship, none. Putting up the letter GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading? EDMUND Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see. EDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.' Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in?--When came this to you? who brought it? EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's? EDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER It is his. EDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he? EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER Think you so? EDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster-- EDMUND Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit EDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar-- Enter EDGAR And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR Do you busy yourself about that? EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last? EDGAR Why, the night gone by. EDMUND Spake you with him? EDGAR Ay, two hours together. EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? EDGAR None at all. EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the spied of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR Armed, brother! EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you: I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away. EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND I do serve you in this business. Exit EDGAR A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty My practises ride easy! I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit SCENE III. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. OSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him. Horns within GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he dislike it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be used With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you. OSWALD Well, madam. GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in the same. Enter KENT, disguised KENT If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants KING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant How now! what art thou? KENT A man, sir. KING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us? KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. KING LEAR What art thou? KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. KING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT Service. KING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve? KENT You. KING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. KING LEAR What's that? KENT Authority. KING LEAR What services canst thou do? KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. KING LEAR How old art thou? KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight. KING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant Enter OSWALD You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? OSWALD So please you,-- Exit KING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight How now! where's that mongrel? Knight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. KING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him. Knight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. KING LEAR He would not! Knight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter. KING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so? Knight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged. KING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Knight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. KING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant Re-enter OSWALD O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady's father. KING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. KING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him OSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord. KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels KING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes OSWALD out KING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. Giving KENT money Enter Fool Fool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. Offering KENT his cap KING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou? Fool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT Why, fool? Fool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! KING LEAR Why, my boy? Fool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. KING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip. Fool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. KING LEAR A pestilent gall to me! Fool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. KING LEAR Do. Fool Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. KENT This is nothing, fool. Fool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? KING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. KING LEAR A bitter fool! Fool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? KING LEAR No, lad; teach me. Fool That lord that counsell'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. KING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. KING LEAR What two crowns shall they be? Fool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Singing Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. KING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Singing Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. KING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o' the parings. Enter GONERIL KING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. Fool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To GONERIL Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. Pointing to KING LEAR That's a shealed peascod. GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. KING LEAR Are you our daughter? GONERIL Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. KING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool Lear's shadow. KING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool Which they will make an obedient father. KING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman? GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy: be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you. KING LEAR Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY KING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,-- To ALBANY O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient. KING LEAR [To GONERIL] Detested kite! thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, Striking his head And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you. KING LEAR It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter KING LEAR KING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALBANY What's the matter, sir? KING LEAR I'll tell thee: To GONERIL Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord? ALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,-- GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit GONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! ALBANY Well, you may fear too far. GONERIL Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit OSWALD No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness. ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GONERIL Nay, then-- ALBANY Well, well; the event. Exeunt SCENE V. Court before the same. Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool KING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit Fool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes? KING LEAR Ay, boy. Fool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. KING LEAR Ha, ha, ha! Fool Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. KING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face? KING LEAR No. Fool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. KING LEAR I did her wrong-- Fool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? KING LEAR No. Fool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. KING LEAR Why? Fool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. KING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? Fool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. KING LEAR Because they are not eight? Fool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. KING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! Fool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. KING LEAR How's that? Fool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. KING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Enter Gentleman How now! are the horses ready? Gentleman Ready, my lord. KING LEAR Come, boy. Fool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. GLOUCESTER's castle. Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him EDMUND Save thee, Curan. CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND Not I pray you, what are they? CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND Not a word. CURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit EDMUND The duke be here to-night? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! Enter EDGAR My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night: Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR I am sure on't, not a word. EDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell. Exit EDGAR Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion. Wounds his arm Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain? EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,-- GLOUCESTER But where is he? EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-- GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after. Exeunt some Servants By no means what? EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,-- As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce My very character,--I'ld turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.' GLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain Would he deny his letter? I never got him. Tucket within Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have the due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants CORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! REGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord. CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else. GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,-- REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice: Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. Exeunt SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT Ay. OSWALD Where may we set our horses? KENT I' the mire. OSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. KENT I love thee not. OSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD What dost thou know me for? KENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage | Macbeth | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls. Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you? First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate. First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence? MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean? MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't. Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane? MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming. MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us. MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever? First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition. from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome. Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies. Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men. Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg! Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Othello, the Moore of Venice Shakespeare homepage | Othello | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer.' And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient. RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. RODERIGO I would not follow him then. IAGO O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus! IAGO Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window BRABANTIO What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? RODERIGO Signior, is all your family within? IAGO Are your doors lock'd? BRABANTIO Why, wherefore ask you this? IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? BRABANTIO Not I what are you? RODERIGO My name is Roderigo. BRABANTIO The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,-- BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. RODERIGO Patience, good sir. BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou? IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. BRABANTIO Thou art a villain. IAGO You are--a senator. BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-- If this be known to you and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper! call up all my people! This accident is not unlike my dream: Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! Exit above IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall-- Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some cheque, Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. Exit Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers: Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? RODERIGO Truly, I think they are. BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed. BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me. BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. Exeunt SCENE II. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is. IAGO Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. OTHELLO Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,-- Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond? IAGO Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in. OTHELLO Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? IAGO By Janus, I think no. Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches OTHELLO The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? CASSIO The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. OTHELLO What is the matter, think you? CASSIO Something from Cyprus as I may divine: It is a business of some heat: the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels, And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several guests To search you out. OTHELLO 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Exit CASSIO Ancient, what makes he here? IAGO 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack: If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. CASSIO I do not understand. IAGO He's married. CASSIO To who? Re-enter OTHELLO IAGO Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go? OTHELLO Have with you. CASSIO Here comes another troop to seek for you. IAGO It is Brabantio. General, be advised; He comes to bad intent. Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with torches and weapons OTHELLO Holla! stand there! RODERIGO Signior, it is the Moor. BRABANTIO Down with him, thief! They draw on both sides IAGO You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. OTHELLO Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. BRABANTIO O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunned The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on; 'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. OTHELLO Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? BRABANTIO To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. OTHELLO What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him? First Officer 'Tis true, most worthy signior; The duke's in council and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. BRABANTIO How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. Exeunt SCENE III. A council-chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending DUKE OF VENICE There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. First Senator Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. DUKE OF VENICE And mine, a hundred and forty. Second Senator And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account,-- As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! First Officer A messenger from the galleys. Enter a Sailor DUKE OF VENICE Now, what's the business? Sailor The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo. DUKE OF VENICE How say you by this change? First Senator This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand, That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. First Officer Here is more news. Enter a Messenger Messenger The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Senator Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Messenger Of thirty sail: and now they do restem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. DUKE OF VENICE 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Senator He's now in Florence. DUKE OF VENICE Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. First Senator Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers DUKE OF VENICE Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. To BRABANTIO I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. BRABANTIO So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows And it is still itself. DUKE OF VENICE Why, what's the matter? BRABANTIO My daughter! O, my daughter! DUKE OF VENICE Senator Dead? BRABANTIO Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. DUKE OF VENICE Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. BRABANTIO Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. DUKE OF VENICE Senator We are very sorry for't. DUKE OF VENICE [To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this? BRABANTIO Nothing, but this is so. OTHELLO Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charged withal, I won his daughter. BRABANTIO A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature, and must be driven To find out practises of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. DUKE OF VENICE To vouch this, is no proof, Without more wider and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. First Senator But, Othello, speak: Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? OTHELLO I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. DUKE OF VENICE Fetch Desdemona hither. OTHELLO Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place. Exeunt IAGO and Attendants And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. DUKE OF VENICE Say it, Othello. OTHELLO Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven It was my hint to speak,--such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants DUKE OF VENICE I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. BRABANTIO I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress: Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience? DESDEMONA My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord. BRABANTIO God be wi' you! I have done. Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child: For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. DUKE OF VENICE Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. BRABANTIO So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears, But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. DUKE OF VENICE The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. OTHELLO The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife. Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. DUKE OF VENICE If you please, Be't at her father's. BRABANTIO I'll not have it so. OTHELLO Nor I. DESDEMONA Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. DUKE OF VENICE What would You, Desdemona? DESDEMONA That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him. OTHELLO Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat--the young affects In me defunct--and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! DUKE OF VENICE Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, And speed must answer it. First Senator You must away to-night. OTHELLO With all my heart. DUKE OF VENICE At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. OTHELLO So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me. DUKE OF VENICE Let it be so. Good night to every one. To BRABANTIO And, noble signior, If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Senator Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. BRABANTIO Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee. Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, & c OTHELLO My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her: And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA RODERIGO Iago,-- IAGO What say'st thou, noble heart? RODERIGO What will I do, thinkest thou? IAGO Why, go to bed, and sleep. RODERIGO I will incontinently drown myself. IAGO If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! RODERIGO It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. IAGO O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. RODERIGO What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. IAGO Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion. RODERIGO It cannot be. IAGO It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. RODERIGO Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? IAGO Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. RODERIGO Where shall we meet i' the morning? IAGO At my lodging. RODERIGO I'll be with thee betimes. IAGO Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? RODERIGO What say you? IAGO No more of drowning, do you hear? RODERIGO I am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Exit IAGO Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe. But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:-- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen MONTANO What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. MONTANO Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. MONTANO If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman Third Gentleman News, lads! our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. MONTANO How! is this true? Third Gentleman The ship is here put in, A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. MONTANO I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. MONTANO Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard. Third Gentleman Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO CASSIO Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea. MONTANO Is he well shipp'd? CASSIO His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Enter a fourth Gentleman CASSIO What noise? Fourth Gentleman The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' CASSIO My hopes do shape him for the governor. Guns heard Second Gentlemen They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. CASSIO I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Second Gentleman I shall. Exit MONTANO But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? CASSIO Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the ingener. Re-enter second Gentleman How now! who has put in? Second Gentleman 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. CASSIO Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands-- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,-- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. MONTANO What is she? CASSIO She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort! Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! DESDEMONA I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? CASSIO He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. DESDEMONA O, but I fear--How lost you company? CASSIO The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail. Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard Second Gentleman They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. CASSIO See for the news. Exit Gentleman Good ancient, you are welcome. To EMILIA Welcome, mistress. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her IAGO Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. DESDEMONA Alas, she has no speech. IAGO In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. EMILIA You have little cause to say so. IAGO Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. EMILIA You shall not write my praise. IAGO No, let me not. DESDEMONA What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? IAGO O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. DESDEMONA Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour? IAGO Ay, madam. DESDEMONA I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? IAGO I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. DESDEMONA Well praised! How if she be black and witty? IAGO If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. DESDEMONA Worse and worse. EMILIA How if fair and foolish? IAGO She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. DESDEMONA These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? IAGO There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. DESDEMONA O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? IAGO She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,-- DESDEMONA To do what? IAGO To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. DESDEMONA O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? CASSIO He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. IAGO [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! Trumpet within The Moor! I know his trumpet. CASSIO 'Tis truly so. DESDEMONA Let's meet him and receive him. CASSIO Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO O my fair warrior! DESDEMONA My dear Othello! OTHELLO It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. DESDEMONA The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! OTHELLO Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kissing her That e'er our hearts shall make! IAGO [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTHELLO Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, Once more, well met at Cyprus. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants IAGO Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them--list me. The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is directly in love with him. RODERIGO With him! why, 'tis not possible. IAGO Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most pregnant and unforced position--who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. RODERIGO I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. IAGO Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? RODERIGO Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. IAGO Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister. RODERIGO Well. IAGO Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. RODERIGO I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. IAGO I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. RODERIGO Adieu. Exit IAGO That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb-- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too-- Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. Exit SCENE II. A street. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt SCENE III. A hall in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants OTHELLO Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. CASSIO Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. OTHELLO Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. To DESDEMONA Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants Enter IAGO CASSIO Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. IAGO Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. CASSIO She's a most exquisite lady. IAGO And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. CASSIO Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. IAGO What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. CASSIO An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. IAGO And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? CASSIO She is indeed perfection. IAGO Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. CASSIO Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. IAGO O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. CASSIO I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. IAGO What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants desire it. CASSIO Where are they? IAGO Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. CASSIO I'll do't; but it dislikes me. Exit IAGO If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.--But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen; servants following with wine CASSIO 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. MONTANO Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. IAGO Some wine, ho! Sings And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! CASSIO 'Fore God, an excellent song. IAGO I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. CASSIO Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? IAGO Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. CASSIO To the health of our general! MONTANO I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. IAGO O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! CASSIO Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. IAGO Will you hear't again? CASSIO No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. IAGO It's true, good lieutenant. CASSIO For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,--I hope to be saved. IAGO And so do I too, lieutenant. CASSIO Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All Excellent well. CASSIO Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. Exit MONTANO To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. IAGO You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: and do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. MONTANO But is he often thus? IAGO 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. MONTANO It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true? Enter RODERIGO IAGO [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. Exit RODERIGO MONTANO And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say So to the Moor. IAGO Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise? Cry within: 'Help! help!' Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO CASSIO You rogue! you rascal! MONTANO What's the matter, lieutenant? CASSIO A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. RODERIGO Beat me! CASSIO Dost thou prate, rogue? Striking RODERIGO MONTANO Nay, good lieutenant; Staying him I pray you, sir, hold your hand. CASSIO Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. MONTANO Come, come, you're drunk. CASSIO Drunk! They fight IAGO [Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny. Exit RODERIGO Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;-- Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir; Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed! Bell rings Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! You will be shamed for ever. Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO What is the matter here? MONTANO 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death. Faints OTHELLO Hold, for your lives! IAGO Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,-- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! OTHELLO Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. IAGO I do not know: friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now-- As if some planet had unwitted men-- Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it! OTHELLO How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? CASSIO I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. OTHELLO Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. MONTANO Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,-- While I spare speech, which something now offends me,-- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us. OTHELLO Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: if I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't? MONTANO If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. IAGO Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help: And Cassio following him with determined sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out-- The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back-- For this was brief--I found them close together, At blow and thrust; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. OTHELLO I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. DESDEMONA What's the matter? OTHELLO All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. To MONTANO, who is led off Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO IAGO What, are you hurt, lieutenant? CASSIO Ay, past all surgery. IAGO Marry, heaven forbid! CASSIO Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! IAGO As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. CASSIO I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! IAGO What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? CASSIO I know not. IAGO Is't possible? CASSIO I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? CASSIO It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. IAGO Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. CASSIO I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. IAGO Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. CASSIO I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! IAGO You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. CASSIO You advise me well. IAGO I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. CASSIO I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here. IAGO You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago. Exit IAGO And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. Re-enter RODERIGO How now, Roderigo! RODERIGO I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. IAGO How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit RODERIGO Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit ACT III SCENE I. Before the castle. Enter CASSIO and some Musicians CASSIO Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.' Music Enter Clown Clown Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? First Musician How, sir, how! Clown Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? First Musician Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clown O, thereby hangs a tail. First Musician Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clown Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. First Musician Well, sir, we will not. Clown If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say to hear music the general does not greatly care. First Musician We have none such, sir. Clown Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: go; vanish into air; away! Exeunt Musicians CASSIO Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clown No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. CASSIO Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: wilt thou do this? Clown She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. CASSIO Do, good my friend. Exit Clown Enter IAGO In happy time, Iago. IAGO You have not been a-bed, then? CASSIO Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. IAGO I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. CASSIO I humbly thank you for't. Exit IAGO I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter EMILIA EMILIA Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again. CASSIO Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. EMILIA Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. CASSIO I am much bound to you. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen OTHELLO These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. IAGO Well, my good lord, I'll do't. OTHELLO This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt SCENE III. The garden of the castle. Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA DESDEMONA Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. EMILIA Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. DESDEMONA O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. CASSIO Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. DESDEMONA I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. DESDEMONA Do not doubt that; before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away. EMILIA Madam, here comes my lord. CASSIO Madam, I'll take my leave. DESDEMONA Why, stay, and hear me speak. CASSIO Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. DESDEMONA Well, do your discretion. Exit CASSIO Enter OTHELLO and IAGO IAGO Ha! I like not that. OTHELLO What dost thou say? IAGO Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what. OTHELLO Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO I do believe 'twas he. DESDEMONA How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO Who is't you mean? DESDEMONA Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO Went he hence now? DESDEMONA Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. DESDEMONA But shall't be shortly? OTHELLO The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA Shall't be to-night at supper? OTHELLO No, not to-night. DESDEMONA To-morrow dinner, then? OTHELLO I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason-- Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best--is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,-- OTHELLO Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. OTHELLO Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA OTHELLO Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO My noble lord-- OTHELLO What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? IAGO But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. OTHELLO Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO O, yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO Indeed! OTHELLO Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord! OTHELLO Honest! ay, honest. IAGO My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO What dost thou think? IAGO Think, my lord! OTHELLO Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO I think thou dost; And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just They are close delations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO I think so too. IAGO Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none! OTHELLO Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. OTHELLO Nay, yet there's more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO I do beseech you-- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO What dost thou mean? IAGO Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. IAGO You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. OTHELLO Ha! IAGO O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! OTHELLO O misery! IAGO Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO Why, why is this? Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this,-- Away at once with love or jealousy! IAGO I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Timon of Athens Shakespeare homepage | Timon of Athens | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors Poet Good day, sir. Painter I am glad you're well. Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Painter It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord. Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd. Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jeweller: I have a jewel here-- Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that-- Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Merchant 'Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Painter 'Tis a good piece. Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Painter Indifferent. Poet Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over Painter How this lord is follow'd! Poet The senators of Athens: happy man! Painter Look, more! Poet You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Painter How shall I understand you? Poet I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Painter I saw them speak together. Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Painter 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Painter Ay, marry, what of these? Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you? Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help: Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Messenger Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Messenger All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an old Athenian Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON Freely, good father. Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. TIMON I have so: what of him? Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service. Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON Well; what further? Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON The man is honest. Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON Does she love him? Old Athenian She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON How shall she be endow'd, if she be mated with an equal husband? Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Athenian Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may The state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; or since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work; And you shall find I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Painter The gods preserve ye! TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise? TIMON A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON Well mock'd. Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid? Enter APEMANTUS Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship. Merchant He'll spare none. TIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS Are they not Athenians? TIMON Yes. APEMANTUS Then I repent not. Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON Whither art going? APEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for. APEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. TIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS The best, for the innocence. TIMON Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Painter You're a dog. APEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS No; I eat not lords. TIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. APEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. TIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Poet How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS Thou liest. Poet Art not one? APEMANTUS Yes. Poet Then I lie not. APEMANTUS Art not a poet? Poet Yes. APEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet That's not feigned; he is so. APEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. TIMON What, thyself? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Wherefore? APEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? Merchant Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Merchant If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger TIMON What trumpet's that? Messenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! APEMANTUS So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except APEMANTUS Enter two Lords First Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Time to be honest. First Lord That time serves still. APEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it. Second Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast? APEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. Second Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. Second Lord Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. First Lord Hang thyself! APEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. Second Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence! APEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. Exit First Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. Second Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. First Lord The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. Second Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in? First Lord I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS. Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty. TIMON O, by no means, Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS A noble spirit! TIMON Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON Ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. They sit First Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not? TIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS No; You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. APEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. Second Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: This and my food are equals; there's no odds: Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. Apemantus' grace. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping: Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't: Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em! First Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we can our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Second Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Third Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much. APEMANTUS Much! Tucket, within TIMON What means that trump? Enter a Servant How now? Servant Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON Ladies! what are their wills? Servant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. TIMON I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid First Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved. Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life. As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto 't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for 't. First Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt Cupid and Ladies TIMON Flavius. FLAVIUS My lord? TIMON The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour; Aside Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should, When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit First Lord Where be our men? Servant Here, my lord, in readiness. Second Lord Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON O my friends, I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. First Lord I am so far already in your gifts,-- All So are we all. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. TIMON They are fairly welcome. FLAVIUS I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee: I prithee, let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter a Second Servant Second Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Enter a third Servant How now! what news? Third Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward. FLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer: Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word: he is so kind that he now Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. Second Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it. Third Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. Second Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call to you. All Lords O, none so welcome. TIMON I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord. First Lord We are so virtuously bound-- TIMON And so Am I to you. Second Lord So infinitely endear'd-- TIMON All to you. Lights, more lights! First Lord The best of happiness, Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. TIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and vain-glories? TIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then: I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Senator's house. Enter Senator, with papers in his hand Senator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure? Senator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when-- 'Commend me to your master'--and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger; Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS I go, sir. Senator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in contempt. CAPHIS I will, sir. Senator Go. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro CAPHIS Good even, Varro: what, You come for money? Varro's Servant Is't not your business too? CAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore? Isidore's Servant It is so. CAPHIS Would we were all discharged! Varro's Servant I fear it. CAPHIS Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, & c TIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? CAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON Go to my steward. CAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awaked by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON Mine honest friend, I prithee, but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS Nay, good my lord,-- TIMON Contain thyself, good friend. Varro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,-- Isidore's Servant From Isidore; He humbly prays your speedy payment. CAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-- Varro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past. Isidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords To FLAVIUS Come hither: pray you, How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS Pray, draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and Fool CAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. Varro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog! Varro's Servant How dost, fool? APEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Varro's Servant I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself. To the Fool Come away. Isidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet. CAPHIS Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! All Servants What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Asses. All Servants Why? APEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. Fool How do you, gentlemen? All Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress? Fool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS Good! gramercy. Enter Page Fool Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters: I know not which is which. APEMANTUS Canst not read? Page No. APEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. Page Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. Exit APEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. Fool Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? All Servants Ay; would they served us! APEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool Are you three usurers' men? All Servants Ay, fool. Fool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this? Varro's Servant I could render one. APEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Varro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Varro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. APEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus. All Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come. Fool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool FLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt Servants TIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? FLAVIUS You would not hear me, At many leisures I proposed. TIMON Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took. When my indispos ition put you back: And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time-- The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? TIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON You tell me true. FLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON Prithee, no more. FLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. TIMON Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants Servants My lord? my lord? TIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord. FLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! TIMON Go you, sir, to the senators-- Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS I have been bold-- For that I knew it the most general way-- To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON Is't true? can't be? FLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,-- But yet they could have wish'd--they know not-- Something hath been amiss--a noble nature May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;-- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence. TIMON You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. To a Servant Go to Ventidius. To FLAVIUS Prithee, be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. No blame belongs to thee. To Servant Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents. Exit Servant To FLAVIUS That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in Lucullus' house. FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him Servant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS Servant Here's my lord. LUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. Exit Servants And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS His health is well sir. LUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter Servant, with wine Servant Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee. To Servant Get you gone, sirrah. Exit Servant Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee! Throwing the money back LUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let moulten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel master's passion! this slave, Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place. Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers LUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. First Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money. Second Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. LUCILIUS How! Second Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man! there was very little honour showed in't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,-- To LUCIUS LUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-- LUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty five hundred talents. SERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir. LUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall. LUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit First Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius? Second Stranger Ay, too well. First Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse, Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. Third Stranger Religion groans at it. First Stranger For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Sempronius' house. Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's SEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these Owe their estates unto him. Servant My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have au denied him. SEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? hum! It shows but little love or judgment in him: Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like physicians, Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me? Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, But his occasion might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite its last? No: So it may prove an argument of laughter To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum, Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit Servant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out Varro's First Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS The like to you kind Varro. HORTENSIUS Lucius! What, do we meet together? Lucilius' Servant Ay, and I think One business does command us all; for mine Is money. TITUS So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS Lucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS Good day at once. Lucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? PHILOTUS Labouring for nine. Lucilius' Servant So much? PHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet? Lucilius' Servant Not yet. PHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. PHILOTUS I am of your fear for that. TITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS Most true, he does. TITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS It is against my heart. Lucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. Varro's First Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Lucilius' Servant Five thousand mine. Varro's First Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS. TITUS One of Lord Timon's men. Lucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not. TITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. FLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled Lucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. TITUS Do you hear, sir? Varro's Second Servant By your leave, sir,-- FLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly: Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. Exit Varro's First Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter? Varro's Second Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS Good gods! TITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Lucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus. TITUS My lord, here is my bill. Lucilius' Servant Here's mine. HORTENSIUS And mine, my lord. Both Varro's Servants And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS All our bills. TIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle. Lucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,- TIMON Cut my heart in sums. TITUS Mine, fifty talents. TIMON Tell out my blood. Lucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON Five thousand drops pays that. What yours?--and yours? Varro's First Servant My lord,-- Varro's Second Servant My lord,-- TIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? devils! FLAVIUS My dear lord,-- TIMON What if it should be so? FLAVIUS My lord,-- TIMON I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS Here, my lord. TIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: All, sirrah, all: I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting. First Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. Second Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants ALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! First Senator Now, captain? ALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument. First Senator You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES My lord,-- First Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? sleep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it, And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. Second Senator You breathe in vain. ALCIBIADES In vain! his service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life. First Senator What's that? ALCIBIADES I say, my lords, he has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! Second Senator He has made too much plenty with 'em; He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us, His days are foul and his drink dangerous. First Senator He dies. ALCIBIADES Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him-- Though his right arm might purchase his own time And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore For law is strict, and war is nothing more. First Senator We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. ALCIBIADES Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me. Second Senator How! ALCIBIADES Call me to your remembrances. Third Senator What! ALCIBIADES I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be, I should prove so base, To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you. First Senator Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever. ALCIBIADES Banish me! Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. First Senator If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt Senators ALCIBIADES Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit SCENE VI. The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at several doors First Lord The good time of day to you, sir. Second Lord I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. First Lord Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered: I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. Second Lord It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. First Lord I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. Second Lord In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. First Lord I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. Second Lord Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you? First Lord A thousand pieces. Second Lord A thousand pieces! First Lord What of you? Second Lord He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes. Enter TIMON and Attendants TIMON With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you? First Lord Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. Second Lord The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently. First Lord I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you an empty messenger. TIMON O, sir, let it not trouble you. Second Lord My noble lord,-- TIMON Ah, my good friend, what cheer? Second Lord My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. TIMON Think not on 't, sir. Second Lord If you had sent but two hours before,-- TIMON Let it not cumber your better remembrance. The banquet brought in Come, bring in all together. Second Lord All covered dishes! First Lord Royal cheer, I warrant you. Third Lord Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. First Lord How do you? What's the news? Third Lord Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it? First Lord Second Lord Alcibiades banished! Third Lord 'Tis so, be sure of it. First Lord How! how! Second Lord I pray you, upon what? TIMON My worthy friends, will you draw near? Third Lord I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. Second Lord This is the old man still. Third Lord Will 't hold? will 't hold? Second Lord It does: but time will--and so-- Third Lord I do conceive. TIMON Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people--what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of warm water Some Speak What does his lordship mean? Some Others I know not. TIMON May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces Your reeking villany. Throwing the water in their faces Live loathed and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Soft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;-- Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Re-enter the Lords, Senators, & c First Lord How now, my lords! Second Lord Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? Third Lord Push! did you see my cap? Fourth Lord I have lost my gown. First Lord He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel? Third Lord Did you see my cap? Second Lord Here 'tis. Fourth Lord Here lies my gown. First Lord Let's make no stay. Second Lord Lord Timon's mad. Third Lord I feel 't upon my bones. Fourth Lord One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens. Enter TIMON TIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity, Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all-- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants First Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? FLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. First Servant Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! Second Servant As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants FLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house. Third Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Servants embrace, and part several ways O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out: I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore. Enter TIMON, from the cave O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! Digging Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. March afar off Ha! a drum ? Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. Keeping some gold Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak. TIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? TIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubim look. PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off! TIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon? TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? TIMON Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA Yes. TIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-- TIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. TIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,-- TIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES Why me, Timon? TIMON That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? TIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd, No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face, A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Well, more gold: what then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. TIMON Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold: Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES I never did thee harm. TIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me. ALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm? TIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike! Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA TIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Digging Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!-- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter APEMANTUS More man? plague, plague! APEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. TIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself. APEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find-- TIMON A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS Why? TIMON Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS To vex thee. TIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON What! a knave too? APEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. TIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS Art thou proud yet? TIMON Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root APEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast. Offering him a root TIMON First mend my company, take away thyself. APEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. TIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; if not, I would it were. APEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS Here is no use for gold. TIMON The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon? TIMON Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind! APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. TIMON On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar? TIMON Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? APEMANTUS Myself. TIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS Ay, Timon. TIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON If I name thee. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. APEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Throws a stone at him APEMANTUS Beast! TIMON Slave! APEMANTUS Toad! TIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon 't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. To the gold O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON Throng'd to! APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery. TIMON Long live so, and so die. Exit APEMANTUS I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Banditti First Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. Second Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. Third Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? Second Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. First Bandit Is not this he? Banditti Where? Second Bandit 'Tis his description. Third Bandit He; I know him. Banditti Save thee, Timon. TIMON Now, thieves? Banditti Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON Both too; and women's sons. Banditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? First Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery. The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. Third Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. First Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. Second Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. First Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt Banditti Enter FLAVIUS FLAVIUS O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON Away! what art thou? FLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. TIMON If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave ACT V SCENE I. The woods. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching them from his cave Painter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? Painter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Painter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having. Poet What have you now to present unto him? Painter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Painter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. TIMON comes from his cave, behind TIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Painter True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. Coming forward Poet Hail, worthy Timon! Painter Our late noble master! TIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Painter He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON Ay, you are honest men. Painter We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Painter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Painter So, so, my lord. TIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Both Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON You'll take it ill. Both Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON Will you, indeed? Both Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both Do we, my lord? TIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he's a made-up villain. Painter I know none such, my lord. Poet Nor I. TIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. Both Name them, my lord, let's know them. TIMON You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves: To Painter You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence! To Poet You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators FLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. First Senator Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon. Second Senator At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. TIMON comes from his cave TIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! First Senator Worthy Timon,-- TIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. First Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. First Senator O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. Second Senator They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. First Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. Second Senator And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens. First Senator Therefore, Timon,-- TIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! First Senator We speak in vain. TIMON But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. First Senator That's well spoke. TIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- First Senator These words become your lips as they pass thorough them. Second Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. First Senator I like this well; he will return again. TIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. FLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. Retires to his cave First Senator His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. Second Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. First Senator It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens. Enter two Senators and a Messenger First Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files As full as thy report? Messenger have spoke the least: Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. Second Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Messenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; Whom, though in general part we were opposed, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends: this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' the cause against your city, In part for his sake moved. First Senator Here come our brothers. Enter the Senators from TIMON Third Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON Soldier By all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: Our captain hath in every figure skill, An aged interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers ALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. First Senator Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. Second Senator So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. First Senator These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them. Second Senator Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. First Senator All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. Second Senator What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. First Senator Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. Second Senator Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon's and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. Both 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates Enter Soldier Soldier My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt Titus Andronicus Shakespeare homepage | Titus Andronicus | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol. The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side, SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit'd home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause. Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol Enter a Captain Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. The tomb is opened There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes; re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS ANDRONICUS Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS ANDRONICUS Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS ANDRONICUS People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS ANDRONICUS Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!' MARCUS ANDRONICUS With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' A long flourish till they come down SATURNINUS Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS ANDRONICUS It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record, and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS ANDRONICUS [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? LAVINIA Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show BASSIANUS Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Seizing LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS ANDRONICUS 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! SATURNINUS Surprised! by whom? BASSIANUS By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS My lord, you pass not here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome? Stabbing MUTIUS MUTIUS Help, Lucius, help! Dies During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. LUCIUS Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promised love. Exit SATURNINUS No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS ANDRONICUS O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me. TAMORA And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS ANDRONICUS I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS ANDRONICUS No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! LUCIUS But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren. QUINTUS MARTIUS And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS ANDRONICUS 'And shall!' what villain was it that spake that word? QUINTUS He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS ANDRONICUS No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS ANDRONICUS Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel MARCUS ANDRONICUS Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,-- QUINTUS Father, and in that name doth nature speak,-- TITUS ANDRONICUS Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-- LUCIUS Dear father, soul and substance of us all,-- MARCUS ANDRONICUS Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS ANDRONICUS Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. MUTIUS is put into the tomb LUCIUS There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. All [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? TITUS ANDRONICUS I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others SATURNINUS So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. SATURNINUS Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine! TAMORA My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS What, madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Aside to SATURNINUS be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life, And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. Aloud Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. TITUS ANDRONICUS I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. LUCIUS We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS ANDRONICUS That, on mine honour, here I do protest. SATURNINUS Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS ANDRONICUS To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour. SATURNINUS Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON AARON Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora: Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Holloa! what storm is this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving DEMETRIUS Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am graced; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. CHIRON Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON [Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? They draw AARON [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS Not I, till I have sheathed My rapier in his bosom and withal Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. CHIRON For that I am prepared and full resolved. Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing darest perform! AARON Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. AARON Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON To achieve her! how? DEMETRIUS Why makest thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tired with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? would it offend you, then That both should speed? CHIRON Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS Nor me, so I were one. AARON For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar: 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, DEMETRIUS Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, & c., MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant and the woods are green: Uncouple here and let us make a bay And wake the emperor and his lovely bride And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good: I promised your grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS And you have rung it lustily, my lord; Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA I say, no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. To TAMORA Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS ANDRONICUS I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS ANDRONICUS And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest. Enter AARON, with a bag of gold AARON He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest Hides the gold That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter TAMORA TAMORA My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. TAMORA Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA BASSIANUS Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA Under your patience, gentle empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS The king my brother shall have note of this. LAVINIA Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON DEMETRIUS How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS This is a witness that I am thy son. Stabs BASSIANUS CHIRON And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies LAVINIA Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,-- TAMORA I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: To CHIRON Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. CHIRON What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall-- CHIRON Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r. Exit Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. Falls into the pit QUINTUS What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee. Falls in Enter SATURNINUS with AARON SATURNINUS Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. MARTIUS We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and Lucius TAMORA Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. She giveth SATURNINUS a letter SATURNINUS [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS ANDRONICUS High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,-- SATURNINUS If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS ANDRONICUS I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS ANDRONICUS Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Enter MARCUS MARCUS Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast! Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee O, could our mourning ease thy misery! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading TITUS ANDRONICUS Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS O noble father, you lament in vain: The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,-- LUCIUS My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Rises But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS ANDRONICUS O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS ANDRONICUS Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARCUS ANDRONICUS This was thy daughter. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS ANDRONICUS Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camest, And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use: Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. LUCIUS Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS ANDRONICUS It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me: what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears: Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead: and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt SCENE II. A street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant CAPULET But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO For what, I pray thee? ROMEO For your broken shin. BENVOLIO Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO Stay, fellow; I can read. Reads 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET JULIET How now! who calls? Nurse Your mother. JULIET Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days. Nurse Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO Strike, drum. Exeunt SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant Ay, boy, ready. First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Exit ROMEO [To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET You kiss by the book. Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO What is her mother? Nurse Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse I know not. JULIET Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO BENVOLIO Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JULIET appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO What shall I swear by? JULIET Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. Nurse calls within I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Exit, above ROMEO O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO So thrive my soul-- JULIET A thousand times good night! Exit, above ROMEO A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET Romeo! ROMEO My dear? JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO At the hour of nine. JULIET I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO I would I were thy bird. JULIET Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit above ROMEO Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO The what? MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO Pink for flower. MERCUTIO Right. ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse You say well. MERCUTIO Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO What hast thou found? MERCUTIO No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing 'lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO Go to; I say you shall. Nurse This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO Commend me to thy lady. Nurse Ay, a thousand times. Exit Romeo Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! Enter Nurse and PETER O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A public place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants BENVOLIO I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO And what to? MERCUTIO Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others TYBALT Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT I am for you. Drawing ROMEO Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO Come, sir, your passado. They fight ROMEO Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers MERCUTIO I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. Exit Page ROMEO Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO ROMEO This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! Re-enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Re-enter TYBALT Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO This shall determine that. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others PRINCE Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Enter Nurse, with cords Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down JULIET Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET Can heaven be so envious? Nurse Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Knocking within FRIAR LAURENCE Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Knocking FRIAR LAURENCE Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Knocking Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCE Welcome, then. Enter Nurse Nurse O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO Nurse! Nurse Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Drawing his sword FRIAR LAURENCE Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit ROMEO How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. He goeth down JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIET Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET What villain madam? LADY CAPULET That same villain, Romeo. JULIET [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULET That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse I speak no treason. CAPULET O, God ye god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit JULIET Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit ACT IV SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS FRIAR LAURENCE On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET PARIS Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE That's a certain text. PARIS Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Exeunt SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second Servant Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET Go, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Enter JULIET CAPULET How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. Exeunt JULIET and Nurse LADY CAPULET We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. Exeunt SCENE III. Juliet's chamber. Enter JULIET and Nurse JULIET Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse JULIET Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. Laying down her dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter CAPULET CAPULET Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. Exit CAPULET Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Music within Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Re-enter Nurse Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Exeunt SCENE V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What noise is here? Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET What is the matter? Nurse Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. Enter CAPULET CAPULET For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET O woful time! CAPULET Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter PETER PETER Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER You will not, then? First Musician No. PETER I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. Exeunt SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR JOHN FRIAR JOHN Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Exit SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch PARIS Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. Retires PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The Page whistles The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. Retires Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c ROMEO Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! They fight PAGE O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. Exit PARIS O, I am slain! Falls If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. Dies ROMEO In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! Drinks O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Dies Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo! Advances Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Enters the tomb Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET wakes JULIET O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? Noise within FRIAR LAURENCE I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, Noise again I dare no longer stay. JULIET Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Kisses him Thy lips are warm. First Watchman [Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIET Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! Snatching ROMEO's dagger This is thy sheath; Stabs herself there rust, and let me die. Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS PAGE This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR Second Watchman Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE Third Watchman Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman A great suspicion: stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants PRINCE What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others CAPULET What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra Shakespeare homepage | Antony and Cleopatra | Entire play 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 glow'd 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, 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. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome. MARK 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.' MARK 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! MARK 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; when such a mutual pair Embracing 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. MARK ANTONY But stirr'd 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. MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing 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 To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Another room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the 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. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony. CHARMIAN Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOPATRA CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord? DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam? CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches. CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us. Exeunt Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius? Messenger Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. MARK ANTONY Well, what worst? Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller. MARK 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 flatter'd. 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-- MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,-- Messenger O, my lord! MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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 MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one? Second Attendant He stays upon your will. MARK ANTONY Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger What are you? Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead. MARK ANTONY Where died she? Second Messenger In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. Gives a letter MARK ANTONY Forbear me. Exit Second Messenger There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt 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! Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's your pleasure, sir? MARK ANTONY I must with haste from hence. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY I must be gone. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY She is cunning past man's thought. Exit ALEXAS DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Would I had never seen her. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Sir? MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Fulvia! MARK ANTONY Dead. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I shall do't. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Another room. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS 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 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 MARK ANTONY CLEOPATRA I am sick and sullen. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Now, my dearest queen,-- CLEOPATRA Pray you, stand further from me. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The gods best know,-- CLEOPATRA O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd! yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. MARK 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! MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar. MARK ANTONY How now, lady! CLEOPATRA I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. MARK 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 condemn'd 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? MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war As thou affect'st. CLEOPATRA Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well, So Antony loves. MARK 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 Life perfect honour. MARK ANTONY You'll heat my blood: no more. CLEOPATRA You can do better yet; but this is meetly. MARK 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. MARK 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. MARK 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 strew'd before your feet! MARK ANTONY Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away! Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, and their Train OCTAVIUS 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 man-like 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 enow 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he which is was wish'd until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not. LEPIDUS 'Tis pity of him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. LEPIDUS To-morrow, Caesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest? 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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR 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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. CLEOPATRA What, was he sad or merry? ALEXAS Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness! 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 further travel. POMPEY I could have given less matter A better ear. Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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. The house of LEPIDUS. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS LEPIDUS Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. DOMITIUS 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 to-day. LEPIDUS 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in't. LEPIDUS But small to greater matters must give way. DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And yonder, Caesar. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA MARK ANTONY If we compose well here, to Parthia: Hark, Ventidius. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I do not know, Mecaenas; 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 the matter. MARK ANTONY 'Tis spoken well. Were we before our armies, and to fight. I should do thus. Flourish OCTAVIUS CAESAR Welcome to Rome. MARK ANTONY Thank you. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Sit. MARK ANTONY Sit, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, then. MARK ANTONY I learn, you take things ill which are not so, Or being, concern you not. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing or a little, I Should say myself offended, and with you Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. MARK ANTONY My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY How intend you, practised? OCTAVIUS CAESAR You may be pleased to catch at mine intent By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Sir, He fell upon me ere admitted: then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. LEPIDUS Soft, Caesar! MARK ANTONY No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. OCTAVIUS CAESAR To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. MARK ANTONY Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd 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. MECAENAS 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, Mecaenas. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. MARK ANTONY You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Go to, then; your considerate stone. OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. AGRIPPA Give me leave, Caesar,-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR Speak, Agrippa. AGRIPPA Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Will Caesar speak? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. MARK ANTONY What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' To make this good? OCTAVIUS CAESAR The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. MARK 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR There is 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! MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Where lies he? OCTAVIUS CAESAR About the mount Misenum. MARK ANTONY What is his strength by land? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Great and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. MARK 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 talk'd of. OCTAVIUS CAESAR With most gladness: And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I'll lead you. MARK ANTONY Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. LEPIDUS Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, and LEPIDUS MECAENAS Welcome from Egypt, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! AGRIPPA Good Enobarbus! MECAENAS We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. MECAENAS Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is this true? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. MECAENAS She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. AGRIPPA O, rare for Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. AGRIPPA Rare Egyptian! DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd. DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth. MECAENAS Now Antony must leave her utterly. DOMITIUS 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. MECAENAS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them, and Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady. Good night, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Good night. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA Enter Soothsayer MARK ANTONY Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt? Soothsayer Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! MARK 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. MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore Make space enough between you. MARK 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. MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, I' the 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. The same. A street. Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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. MECAENAS 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. MECAENAS AGRIPPA Sir, good success! LEPIDUS Farewell. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attendants The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN 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 play'd As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? MARDIAN As well as I can, madam. CLEOPATRA And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd 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 a Messenger O, from Italy Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Messenger Madam, madam,-- CLEOPATRA Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Messenger First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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 Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence, Strikes him again 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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering 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. Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger 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. Bid you Alexas To MARDIAN 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, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS, with Soldiers marching POMPEY Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most meet That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Take your time. MARK 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'er-count thee. POMPEY At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR There's the point. MARK ANTONY Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embraced. OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targes undinted. OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY 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. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; For I have gain'd by 't. OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us. OCTAVIUS CAESAR That's the next to do. POMPEY We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's Draw lots who shall begin. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY You have heard much. POMPEY I have fair meanings, sir. MARK ANTONY And fair words to them. POMPEY Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-- DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No more of that: he did so. POMPEY What, I pray you? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. POMPEY I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier? DOMITIUS 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 behavior. DOMITIUS 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY LEPIDUS Show us the way, sir. POMPEY Come. Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS MENAS [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS At sea, I think. MENAS We have, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS You have done well by water. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But there is never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS No slander; they steal hearts. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again. MENAS You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar's sister is called Octavia. MENAS True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS Pray ye, sir? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Tis true. MENAS Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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? DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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, off Misenum. Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink. First Servant But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. Second Servant Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains MARK ANTONY [To OCTAVIUS CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know, By the 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. MARK ANTONY Ay, Lepidus. LEPIDUS Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. MARK 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. DOMITIUS 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 [Aside to POMPEY] 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? MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. LEPIDUS What colour is it of? MARK ANTONY Of it own colour too. LEPIDUS 'Tis a strange serpent. MARK ANTONY 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Will this description satisfy him? MARK 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 call'd 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. The matter? Rises, and walks aside 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. MARK ANTONY These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. MENAS Wilt thou be lord of all the world? POMPEY What say'st thou? MENAS Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY How should that be? MENAS But entertain it, And, though thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. POMPEY Hast thou drunk well? MENAS Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove: Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine. POMPEY Ah, this thou shouldst have done, And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany; 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 pall'd fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. POMPEY This health to Lepidus! MARK ANTONY Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Here's to thee, Menas! MENAS Enobarbus, welcome! POMPEY Fill till the cup be hid. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS There's a strong fellow, Menas. Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS MENAS Why? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all, That it might go on wheels! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Drink thou; increase the reels. MENAS Come. POMPEY This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. MARK ANTONY It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho? Here is to Caesar! OCTAVIUS CAESAR I could well forbear't. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. MARK ANTONY Be a child o' the time. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Possess it, I'll make answer: But I had rather fast from all four days Than drink so much in one. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ha, my brave emperor! To MARK ANTONY Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? POMPEY Let's ha't, good soldier. MARK ANTONY Come, let's all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand THE SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round! OCTAVIUS 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 Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY I'll try you on the shore. MARK 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS 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 hang'd, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ho! says a' There's my cap. MENAS Ho! 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 the minute, lost his favour. Who does i' the 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' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS at another AGRIPPA What, are the brothers parted? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness. AGRIPPA 'Tis a noble Lepidus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar! AGRIPPA Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. AGRIPPA What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil! AGRIPPA O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further. AGRIPPA Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony: Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho! His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. AGRIPPA Both he loves. DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY No further, sir. OCTAVIUS 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 band 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 cherish'd. MARK ANTONY Make me not offended In your distrust. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have said. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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! MARK 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-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR What, Octavia? OCTAVIA I'll tell you in your ear. MARK 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 full of tide, And neither way inclines. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in 's face. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring; and he wept When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound he wail'd, Believe't, till I wept too. OCTAVIUS CAESAR No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Adieu; be happy! LEPIDUS Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Farewell, fa rewell! Kisses OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt SCENE III. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Where is the fellow? ALEXAS Half afeard to come. CLEOPATRA Go to, go to. Enter the 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 look'd 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 MARK ANTONY's house. Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA MARK 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 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. MARK 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 mean time, 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. MARK 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. The same. Another room. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How now, friend Eros! EROS There's strange news come, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What, man? EROS Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Our great navy's rigg'd. EROS For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Twill be naught: But let it be. Bring me to Antony. EROS Come, sir. Exeunt SCENE VI. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS OCTAVIUS CAESAR Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more, In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't: I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 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. MECAENAS This in the public eye? OCTAVIUS CAESAR I' the common show-place, where they exercise. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings: Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia. He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, As 'tis reported, so. MECAENAS Let Rome be thus Inform'd. AGRIPPA Who, queasy with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR The people know it; and have now received His accusations. AGRIPPA Who does he accuse? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Caesar: and that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him His part o' the 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 answer'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR 'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I Demand the like. MECAENAS He'll never yield to that. OCTAVIUS 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway! OCTAVIA You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. OCTAVIA Do not say so, my lord. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have eyes upon him, And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? OCTAVIA My lord, in Athens. OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; King Malchus 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 do afflict each other! OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. AGRIPPA Welcome, lady. MECAENAS Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you, Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister! Exeunt SCENE VII. Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp. Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS CLEOPATRA I will be even with thee, doubt it not. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But why, why, why? CLEOPATRA Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, And say'st it is not fit. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Well, is it, is it? CLEOPATRA If not denounced against us, why should not we Be there in person? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 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? DOMITIUS 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' the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will Appear there for a man. Speak not against it: I will not stay behind. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Nay, I have done. Here comes the emperor. Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK ANTONY For that he dares us to't. DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off; And so should you. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Your ships are not well mann'd; Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people Ingross'd 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. MARK ANTONY By sea, by sea. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth most consist Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, From firm security. MARK ANTONY I'll fight at sea. CLEOPATRA I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. MARK ANTONY Our overplus of shipping will we burn; And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium Beat the 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. MARK ANTONY Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange that 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 the Egyptians And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. MARK ANTONY Well, well: away! Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Soldier By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching OCTAVIUS CAESAR Taurus! TAURUS My lord? OCTAVIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 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 marcheth with his land army one way over the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer: The 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's thy passion! SCARUS The greater cantle of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How appears the fight? SCARUS On our side like the token'd pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,-- Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight, When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That I beheld: Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not Endure a further view. SCARUS She once being loof'd, 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. DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt SCENE XI. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS following 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! MARK ANTONY No, no, no, no, no. EROS See you here, sir? MARK ANTONY O fie, fie, fie! CHARMIAN Madam! IRAS Madam, O good empress! EROS Sir, sir,-- MARK 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 practise 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 him: O! EROS Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches: Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but Your comfort makes the rescue. MARK ANTONY I have offended reputation, A most unnoble swerving. EROS Sir, the queen. MARK 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 'Stroy'd in dishonour. CLEOPATRA O my lord, my lord, Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought You would have follow'd. MARK ANTONY Egypt, thou knew'st too well My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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! MARK 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' the world play'd 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! MARK 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. Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him appear that's come from Antony. Know you him? DOLABELLA Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion off his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by. Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Approach, and speak. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Be't so: declare thine office. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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. EUPHRONIUS Fortune pursue thee! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS To THYREUS 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, Thyreus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. THYREUS Caesar, I go. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. THYREUS Caesar, I shall. Exeunt SCENE XIII. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS CLEOPATRA What shall we do, Enobarbus? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Think, and die. CLEOPATRA Is Antony or we in fault for this? DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: 'twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. CLEOPATRA Prithee, peace. Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador MARK ANTONY Is that his answer? EUPHRONIUS Ay, my lord. MARK ANTONY The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up. EUPHRONIUS He says so. MARK 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? MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant Attendant A messenger from CAESAR. CLEOPATRA What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit Attendant DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i' the story. Enter THYREUS CLEOPATRA Caesar's will? THYREUS Hear it apart. CLEOPATRA None but friends: say boldly. THYREUS So, haply, are they friends to Antony. DOMITIUS 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. THYREUS So. Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Caesar. CLEOPATRA Go on: right royal. THYREUS He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. CLEOPATRA O! THYREUS 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 conquer'd merely. DOMITIUS 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 THYREUS 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 shrowd, The universal landlord. CLEOPATRA What's your name? THYREUS My name is Thyreus. CLEOPATRA Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering 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. THYREUS '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, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? THYREUS One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] You will be whipp'd. MARK 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 Attendants Take hence this Jack, and whip him. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. MARK 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. THYREUS Mark Antony! MARK ANTONY Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,-- MARK ANTONY You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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? MARK ANTONY I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd 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? MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him. Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS Is he whipp'd? First Attendant Soundly, my lord. MARK ANTONY Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? First Attendant He did ask favour. MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone! Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA Have you done yet? MARK ANTONY Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! CLEOPATRA I must stay his time. MARK ANTONY To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? CLEOPATRA Not know me yet? MARK 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! MARK ANTONY I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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! MARK ANTONY I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. MARK ANTONY We will yet do well. CLEOPATRA Call all his noble captains to my lord. MARK ANTONY Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter OCTAVIUS CAESAR He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp'd 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. MECAENAS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt SCENE II. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others MARK ANTONY He will not fight with me, Domitius. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No. MARK ANTONY Why should he not? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. MARK ANTONY To-morrow, 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? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' MARK ANTONY Well said; come on. Call forth my household servants: let's to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Enter three or four Servitors Give me thy hand, Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots Out of the mind. MARK ANTONY And thou art honest too. I wish I could be made so many men, And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony, that I might do you service So good as you have done. All The gods forbid! MARK ANTONY Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me As when mine empire was your fellow too, And suffer'd my command. CLEOPATRA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. MARK ANTONY Tend me to-night; May be it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 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 to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! DOMITIUS 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. MARK 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 to-morrow; 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. The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers to their guard First Soldier Brother, good night: to-morrow 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 Fourth Soldier Here we: and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. Third Soldier 'Tis a brave army, And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage Fourth Soldier Peace! what noise? First Soldier List, list! Second Soldier Hark! First Soldier Music i' the 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 [Speaking together] 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. The same. A room in the palace. Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and others attending MARK ANTONY Eros! mine armour, Eros! CLEOPATRA Sleep a little. MARK ANTONY No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter EROS with armour Come good fellow, put mine iron on: If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her: come. CLEOPATRA Nay, I'll help too. What's this for? MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou shouldst see A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier 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. Soldier A thousand, sir, Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish Enter Captains and Soldiers Captain The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. All Good morrow, general. MARK 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: rebukeable Kisses her And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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. Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp. Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a Soldier meeting them Soldier The gods make this a happy day to Antony! MARK ANTONY Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd 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 Follow'd thy heels. MARK 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.' MARK ANTONY What say'st thou? Soldier Sir, He is with Caesar. EROS Sir, his chests and treasure He has not with him. MARK ANTONY Is he gone? Soldier Most certain. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is Antony be took alive; Make it so known. AGRIPPA Caesar, I shall. Exit OCTAVIUS CAESAR The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger Messenger Antony Is come into the field. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains Caesar hath hang'd 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. DOMITIUS 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 DOMITIUS 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 MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Thou bleed'st apace. SCARUS I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY I will reward thee Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. SCARUS I'll halt after. Exeunt SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS, with others MARK ANTONY We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole. To SCARUS Give me thy hand Enter CLEOPATRA, attended To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee. To CLEOPATRA O thou day o' the world, Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? MARK ANTONY My 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 to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. CLEOPATRA I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. MARK ANTONY He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach. Exeunt SCENE IX. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Sentinels at their post First Soldier If we be not relieved within this hour, We must return to the court of guard: the night Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. Second Soldier This last day was A shrewd one to's. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS O, bear me witness, night,-- Third Soldier What man is this? Second Soldier Stand close, and list him. DOMITIUS 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! First Soldier Enobarbus! Third Soldier Peace! Hark further. DOMITIUS 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 Second Soldier Let's speak To him. First Soldier Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Third Soldier Let's do so. But he sleeps. First Soldier Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Second Soldier Go we to him. Third Soldier Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Second Soldier Hear you, sir? First Soldier The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Third Soldier Come on, then; He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body SCENE X. Between the two camps. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army MARK ANTONY Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. SCARUS For both, my lord. MARK ANTONY I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld 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 same. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army OCTAVIUS 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 same. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS MARK ANTONY Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers 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. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight Re-enter MARK ANTONY MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone. 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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, 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? MARK ANTONY Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well 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' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit SCENE XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd. CHARMIAN To the 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 the 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 the monument! Exeunt SCENE XIV. The same. Another room. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS MARK ANTONY Eros, thou yet behold'st me? EROS Ay, noble lord. MARK ANTONY Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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, MARK 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. MARK 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 annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword. MARDIAN No, Antony; My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely. MARK ANTONY Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! She hath betray'd 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 render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. MARK ANTONY Dead, then? MARDIAN Dead. MARK ANTONY Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. To MARDIAN That thou depart'st hence safe, Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit MARDIAN Off, pluck off: The seven-fold 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! Re-enter EROS EROS What would my lord? MARK ANTONY Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd 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 The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strikest 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? MARK ANTONY Eros, Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued? EROS I would not see't. MARK 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! MARK ANTONY When I did make thee free, sworest 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. MARK ANTONY Lo thee! Turning from him EROS My sword is drawn. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY 'Tis said, man; and farewell. EROS Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? MARK ANTONY Now, Eros. EROS Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Kills himself MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! Enter DERCETAS and Guard First Guard What's the noise? MARK ANTONY I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end Of what I have begun. Second Guard The star is fall'n. First Guard And time is at his period. All Alas, and woe! MARK ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead. First Guard Not I. Second Guard Nor I. Third Guard Nor any one. Exeunt Guard DERCETAS 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? DERCETAS There, Diomed there. DIOMEDES Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS MARK 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. MARK ANTONY When did she send thee? DIOMEDES Now, my lord. MARK ANTONY Where is she? DIOMEDES Lock'd 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. MARK 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 MARK ANTONY MARK 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! MARK 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 MARK ANTONY SCENE XV. The same. 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, Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument; His guard have brought him thither. Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard CLEOPATRA O sun, Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. MARK ANTONY Peace! Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. CLEOPATRA So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! MARK ANTONY I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay up thy lips. CLEOPATRA I dare not, dear,-- Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooch'd 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. MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,-- Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come; They heave MARK 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! MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence. MARK ANTONY One word, sweet queen: Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! CLEOPATRA They do not go together. MARK ANTONY Gentle, hear me: None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. CLEOPATRA My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Caesar. MARK 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' the world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. 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, MARK ANTONY dies The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body ACT V SCENE I. Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest Appear thus to us? DERCETAS I am call'd Dercetas; 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR What is't thou say'st? DERCETAS I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. OCTAVIUS 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. DERCETAS 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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. OCTAVIUS 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. MECAENAS 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 touch'd. MECAENAS When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O Antony! I have follow'd 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-- But I will tell you at some meeter season: Enter an Egyptian 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. OCTAVIUS 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 live To be ungentle. Egyptian So the gods preserve thee! Exit OCTAVIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius? All Dolabella! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employ'd: 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 dug, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS and Soldiers PROCULEIUS Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face. PROCULEIUS This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied Of him that caused it. GALLUS You see how easily she may be surprised: Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the monument by a ladder placed against a window, and, having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates To PROCULEIUS and the Guard Guard her till Caesar come. Exit 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 betray'd. CLEOPATRA What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? PROCULEIUS Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty by The 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 Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA If it might please ye,-- 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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above The element they lived in: in his livery Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As plates dropp'd from his pocket. DOLABELLA Cleopatra! CLEOPATRA Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? DOLABELLA Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were, one such, It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine And 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't. Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there: Octavius Caesar!' Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which is the Queen of Egypt? DOLABELLA It is the emperor, madam. CLEOPATRA kneels OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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' the 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. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted. Where's 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. CLEOPATRA See, Caesar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! 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! OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man, Thou wouldst have mercy on me. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Cleopatra, Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged, Put we i' the 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 cheer'd; 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not so. Adieu. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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. Re-enter DOLABELLA DOLABELLA Where is 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 perform'd 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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore. IRAS O the good gods! CLEOPATRA Nay, that's certain. IRAS I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. CLEOPATRA Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents. Re-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. Wherefore's this noise? Exit IRAS. A noise within Enter a Guardsman Guard 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. Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket Guard 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 Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. CLEOPATRA Get thee hence; farewell. Clown I wish you all joy of the worm. Setting down his 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 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' the worm. Exit Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; And golden Phoebus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in First Guard Where is 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! Dies Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar!' Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching DOLABELLA O sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bravest at the last, She levell'd 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Poison'd, 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 dropp'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O noble weakness! If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. OCTAVIUS 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 The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO BERNARDO Who's there? FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. BERNARDO Long live the king! FRANCISCO Bernardo? BERNARDO He. FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour. BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring. BERNARDO Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there? Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO Give you good night. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place. Give you good night. Exit MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo! BERNARDO Say, What, is Horatio there? HORATIO A piece of him. BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO Sit down awhile; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story What we have two nights seen. HORATIO Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. BERNARDO Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one,-- Enter Ghost MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO See, it stalks away! HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit Ghost MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer. BERNARDO 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 the 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, Dared 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 seized 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 covenant, 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 romage in the land. BERNARDO 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.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! Re-enter Ghost 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: Cock crows 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! Stop it, Marcellus. MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan? HORATIO Do, if it will not stand. BERNARDO 'Tis here! HORATIO 'Tis here! MARCELLUS 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. BERNARDO 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, The 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 dares 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 to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-- Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with the 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, Voltimand, 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 delated articles allow. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND In that and all things will we show our duty. KING CLAUDIUS We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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 My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation, Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. KING CLAUDIUS Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? LORD 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS '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 persever 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 to-day, '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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO 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 mine 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 pray thee, 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 baked 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 awhile 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 Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 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, distilled 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'd. HAMLET Did you not speak to it? HORATIO My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its 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 to-night? MARCELLUS BERNARDO We do, my lord. HAMLET Arm'd, say you? MARCELLUS BERNARDO Arm'd, my lord. HAMLET From top to toe? MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 amazed you. HAMLET Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? HORATIO While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again. HORATIO I warrant 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 to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All Our duty to your honour. HAMLET Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. Exeunt all but HAMLET My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Exit SCENE III. A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 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 disclosed, 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 the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. 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. LORD 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 thee! And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are 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 ownself 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. 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 LORD POLONIUS What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you? OPHELIA So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. LORD 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. LORD 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. LORD 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 importuned me with love In honourable fashion. LORD 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. LORD 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 somewhat 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. HAMLET No, it is struck. HORATIO Indeed? I heard it not: then it 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 to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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: But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-- Their 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 eale 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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath oped 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 I will follow it. HORATIO Do not, my lord. HAMLET Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life in 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 ruled; 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. Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 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. Another part of the platform. Enter GHOST and HAMLET HAMLET Where 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 sulphurous 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 confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAMLET O my prophetic soul! My 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 moved, 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 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, Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me. Exit HAMLET O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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. MARCELLUS HORATIO [Within] My lord, my lord,-- MARCELLUS [Within] Lord Hamlet,-- HORATIO [Within] Heaven secure him! HAMLET So be it! HORATIO [Within] Hillo, 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 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 has business and desire, Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night. HORATIO 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 [Beneath] Swear. HAMLET Ah, ha, boy! say'st 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' the 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 headshake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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! They swear So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to 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' house. Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO LORD POLONIUS Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. REYNALDO I will, my lord. LORD POLONIUS You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, Before you visit him, to make inquire Of his behavior. REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it. LORD POLONIUS Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire 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. 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. LORD POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing: you may go so far. REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonour him. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this? REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that. LORD POLONIUS Marry, sir, here's my drift; And I believe, it is a fetch of wit: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured 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. 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.' LORD POLONIUS At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry; He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say, There was a' 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. LORD POLONIUS God be wi' you; fare you well. REYNALDO Good my lord! LORD POLONIUS Observe his inclination in yourself. REYNALDO I shall, my lord. LORD POLONIUS And let him ply his music. REYNALDO Well, my lord. LORD POLONIUS Farewell! Exit REYNALDO Enter OPHELIA How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? OPHELIA O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! LORD POLONIUS With what, i' the name of God? OPHELIA My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 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. LORD POLONIUS Mad for thy love? OPHELIA My lord, I do not know; But truly, I do fear it. LORD 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 raised 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 helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. LORD 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 fetters and denied His access to me. LORD POLONIUS That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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 call it, Sith nor the 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 the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, being of so young days brought up with him, And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior, 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 GERTRUDE 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 But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. KING CLAUDIUS Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 practises Pleasant and helpful to him! QUEEN GERTRUDE Ay, amen! Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. KING CLAUDIUS Thou still hast been the father of good news. LORD POLONIUS Have I, my lord? I assure 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 used to do, that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. KING CLAUDIUS O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. LORD POLONIUS Give first admittance to the ambassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. KING CLAUDIUS Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. Exit POLONIUS He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. QUEEN GERTRUDE I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. KING CLAUDIUS Well, we shall sift him. Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS Welcome, my good friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? VOLTIMAND 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 grieved, 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 the 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, Giving 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 CLAUDIUS It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS LORD 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 GERTRUDE More matter, with less art. LORD 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 while 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. Thus: Reads 'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.' QUEEN GERTRUDE Came this from Hamlet to her? LORD 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 shown me, And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means and place, All given to mine ear. KING CLAUDIUS But how hath she Received his love? LORD POLONIUS What do you think of me? KING CLAUDIUS As of a man faithful and honourable. LORD POLONIUS I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing-- As I perceived 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 mourn for. KING CLAUDIUS Do you think 'tis this? QUEEN GERTRUDE It may be, very likely. LORD POLONIUS Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that-- That I have positively said 'Tis so,' When it proved otherwise? KING CLAUDIUS Not that I know. LORD POLONIUS [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise: If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. KING CLAUDIUS How may we try it further? LORD POLONIUS You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby. QUEEN GERTRUDE So he does indeed. LORD 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 CLAUDIUS We will try it. QUEEN GERTRUDE But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. LORD POLONIUS Away, I do beseech you, both away: I'll board him presently. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants Enter HAMLET, reading O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet? HAMLET Well, God-a-mercy. LORD POLONIUS Do you know me, my lord? HAMLET Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. LORD POLONIUS Not I, my lord. HAMLET Then I would you were so honest a man. LORD POLONIUS Honest, my lord! HAMLET Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. LORD POLONIUS That's very true, my lord. HAMLET For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? LORD POLONIUS I have, my lord. HAMLET Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't. LORD POLONIUS [Aside] How say you by that? 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. LORD POLONIUS What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET Between who? LORD POLONIUS I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. LORD 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. LORD 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 any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life. LORD POLONIUS Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET These tedious old fools! Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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 outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. ROSENCRANTZ 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, any thing, 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 [Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 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 humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not. HAMLET How comes it? do they grow rusty? ROSENCRANTZ Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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 LORD 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: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS The actors are come hither, my lord. HAMLET Buz, buz! LORD POLONIUS Upon mine honour,-- HAMLET Then came each actor on his ass,-- LORD 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! LORD POLONIUS What a treasure had he, my lord? HAMLET Why, 'One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.' LORD POLONIUS [Aside] Still on my daughter. HAMLET Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? LORD POLONIUS If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. HAMLET Nay, that follows not. LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last: comest 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 apiece 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 any thing 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 judgments 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 indict 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 the 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, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damned light To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. LORD 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 The 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' the 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 forged 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!' LORD 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?' LORD POLONIUS That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. First Player 'Run barefoot up and down, threatening 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'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 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.' LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more. HAMLET 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert. HAMLET God's bodykins, 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. LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs. HAMLET Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Exit 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 to-morrow 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 My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord! HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi' ye; Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN 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 wann'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' the 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! O, 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 To 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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. LORD POLONIUS 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties To hear and see the matter. KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. 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 CLAUDIUS 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 behaved, If 't be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself. KING CLAUDIUS [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 burthen! LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised 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 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 composed 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 no where 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 has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 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; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed 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, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS KING CLAUDIUS 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? LORD 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 placed, 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 CLAUDIUS It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt SCENE II. A hall in the castle. Enter HAMLET and 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, the 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed 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 mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous, 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! I will the king hear this piece of work? LORD POLONIUS And the queen too, and that presently. HAMLET Bid the players make haste. Exit POLONIUS Will you two help to hasten them? ROSENCRANTZ 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 coped 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 blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 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 to-night 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 seest that act afoot, 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 judgments 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. HAMLET No, nor mine now. To POLONIUS My lord, you played once i' the university, you say? LORD POLONIUS That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. HAMLET What did you enact? LORD POLONIUS I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 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 GERTRUDE Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. HAMLET No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. LORD POLONIUS [To KING CLAUDIUS] 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 these 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.' Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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. Exit HAMLET Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? OPHELIA 'Tis brief, my lord. HAMLET As woman's love. Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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 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 GERTRUDE The lady protests too much, methinks. HAMLET O, but she'll keep her word. KING CLAUDIUS Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't? HAMLET No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world. KING CLAUDIUS What do you call the play? HAMLET The Mouse-trap. 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 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. Enter LUCIANUS This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in 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 GERTRUDE How fares my lord? LORD POLONIUS Give o'er the play. KING CLAUDIUS Give me some light: away! All Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO HAMLET Why, let the stricken 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, perdy. Come, some music! Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration. HAMLET O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. 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 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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb is something musty. Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you cannot play upon me. Enter POLONIUS God bless you, sir! LORD 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? LORD POLONIUS By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. LORD POLONIUS It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET Or like a whale? LORD POLONIUS Very like a whale. HAMLET Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. LORD POLONIUS I will say so. HAMLET By and by is easily said. Exit POLONIUS 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 soever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit SCENE III. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. KING CLAUDIUS Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN We will haste us. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS 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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged, 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 the 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 KING CLAUDIUS [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit SCENE IV. The Queen's closet. Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS LORD 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 sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him. HAMLET [Within] Mother, mother, mother! QUEEN GERTRUDE I'll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. POLONIUS hides behind the arras Enter HAMLET HAMLET Now, mother, what's the matter? QUEEN GERTRUDE Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. HAMLET Mother, you have my father much offended. QUEEN GERTRUDE Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. HAMLET Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. QUEEN GERTRUDE Why, how now, Hamlet! HAMLET What's the matter now? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! LORD POLONIUS [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! HAMLET [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Makes a pass through the arras LORD POLONIUS [Behind] O, I am slain! Falls and dies QUEEN GERTRUDE O me, what hast thou done? HAMLET Nay, I know not: Is it the king? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE As kill a king! HAMLET Ay, lady, 'twas my word. Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. QUEEN GERTRUDE What have I done, that thou darest 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 GERTRUDE 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 judgment: and what judgment 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 ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Alas, he's mad! HAMLET Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed 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 GERTRUDE 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 hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this? HAMLET Do you see nothing there? QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves. HAMLET Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Exit Ghost QUEEN GERTRUDE This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE 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 devil, 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 to-night, 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 [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, Pointing to POLONIUS I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE 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 engineer 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. Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS ACT IV SCENE I. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves: You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? QUEEN GERTRUDE Bestow this place on us a little while. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! KING CLAUDIUS What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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 every one. 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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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. 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: 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 CLAUDIUS, attended KING CLAUDIUS 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 loved of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where tis so, the 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 relieved, 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 CLAUDIUS But where is he? ROSENCRANTZ Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. KING CLAUDIUS Bring him before us. ROSENCRANTZ Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? HAMLET At supper. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Alas, alas! HAMLET A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. KING CLAUDIUS What dost you mean by this? HAMLET Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. KING CLAUDIUS Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 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 CLAUDIUS Go seek him there. To some Attendants HAMLET He will stay till ye come. Exeunt Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. HAMLET For England! KING CLAUDIUS Ay, Hamlet. HAMLET Good. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: Away! for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the 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 congruing 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, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised 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. PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go softly on. Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others HAMLET Good sir, whose powers are these? Captain They are of Norway, sir. HAMLET How purposed, sir, I pray you? Captain Against some part of Poland. HAMLET Who commands them, sir? Captain The nephews 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 the imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. All's Well That Ends Well Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? LAFEU A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM I heard not of it before. LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it. HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU How understand we that? COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES Aside One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES Save you, fair queen! HELENA And you, monarch! PAROLLES No. HELENA And no. PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES Keep him out. HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ] There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother and a mistress and a friend, A phoenix, captain and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning place, and he is one-- PAROLLES What one, i' faith? HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- PAROLLES What's pity? HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Return us thanks. Enter Page Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES Under Mars, I. HELENA I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES Why under Mars? HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES When he was predominant. HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES Why think you so? HELENA You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES That's for advantage. HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. Exit HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove So show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease--my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. Exit SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. First Lord So 'tis reported, sir. KING Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial. First Lord His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's. KING I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. Second Lord You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord. KING If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM Thank your majesty. Exeunt. Flourish SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown COUNTESS I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clown 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS Well, sir. Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clown I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason? Clown Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. COUNTESS What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. COUNTESS You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS Well, now. Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Exit Steward Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. HELENA What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother: Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? HELENA That I am not. COUNTESS I say, I am your mother. HELENA Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. HELENA Good madam, pardon me! COUNTESS Do you love my son? HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress! COUNTESS Love you my son? HELENA Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- To go to Paris? HELENA Madam, I had. COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true. HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNTESS This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak. HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? HELENA There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour. COUNTESS Dost thou believe't? HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,--see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both Our hearts receive your warnings. KING Farewell. Come hither to me. Exit, attended First Lord O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars. BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' PAROLLES An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. First Lord There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES Commit it, count. Second Lord I am your accessary; and so, farewell. BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. First Lord Farewell, captain. Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. First Lord We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords PAROLLES Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? BERTRAM Stay: the king. Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM And I will do so. PAROLLES Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? KING No. LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, And write to her a love-line. KING What 'her' is this? LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA LAFEU Nay, come your ways. KING This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU Nay, come your ways: This is his majesty; say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. Exit KING Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found. KING I knew him. HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him: Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, And of his old experience the oily darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; And hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. KING We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you. Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back a again. KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think and think I know most sure My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING Are thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? HELENA The great'st grace lending grace Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. KING Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture? HELENA Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING Make thy demand. HELENA But will you make it even? KING Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING Here is my hand; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. COUNTESS I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me. COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time To entertain't so merrily with a fool. Clown O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: This is not much. Clown Not much commendation to them. COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me? Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. COUNTESS Haste you again. Exeunt severally SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM And so 'tis. LAFEU To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus. PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- PAROLLES Right; so I say. LAFEU That gave him out incurable,-- PAROLLES Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU Not to be helped,-- PAROLLES Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death. PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in--what do you call there? LAFEU A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. PAROLLES That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, I speak in respect-- PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- LAFEU Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES Ay, so I say. LAFEU In a most weak-- pausing and debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be-- pausing generally thankful. PAROLLES I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so. KING Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING Peruse them well: Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. All We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again.' KING Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? First Lord And grant it. HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love! Second Lord No better, if you please. HELENA My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir, And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. KING Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go. KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM I take her hand. KING Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES LAFEU [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master! LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES To any count, to all counts, to what is man. LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou't scarce worth. PAROLLES Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it. LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress. PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU Who? God? PAROLLES Ay, sir. LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-enter BERTRAM BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart? BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart? BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter HELENA and Clown HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well? Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clown Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA What two things? Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES Why, I say nothing. Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave. Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. PAROLLES Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA What's his will else? PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA What more commands he? PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will. PAROLLES I shall report it so. HELENA I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES Sir? LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? PAROLLES She is. BERTRAM Will she away to-night? PAROLLES As you'll have her. BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear. BERTRAM I think so. PAROLLES Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires Some private speech with you. BERTRAM I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you That presently you take our way for home; And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better than they seem And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to my mother: Giving a letter 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. HELENA Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that. HELENA And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM Well, what would you say? HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM What would you have? HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord: Faith yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. Exit HELENA Go thou toward home; where I will never come Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. First Lord Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. Second Lord Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE Be it his pleasure. First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE Welcome shall they be; And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clown By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? Clown E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! COUNTESS What is the matter? Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen First Gentleman Save you, good madam. HELENA Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Second Gentleman Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Reads When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? First Gentleman Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? Second Gentleman Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS Find you that there? HELENA Ay, madam. First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles, was it not? First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. First Gentleman Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. Second Gentleman We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near! Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. DUKE Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Steward COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Steward [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me: Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. COUNTESS What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger: When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger: My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. DIANA They say the French count has done most honourable service. Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. Tucket We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. DIANA You shall not need to fear me. Widow I hope so. Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port. HELENA Is this the way? Widow Ay, marry, is't. A march afar Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA Is it yourself? Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Widow You came, I think, from France? HELENA I did so. Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA His name, I pray you. DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. DIANA Whatsome'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: think you it is so? HELENA Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA What's his name? DIANA Monsieur Parolles. HELENA O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated: all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examined. DIANA Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleased. HELENA How do you mean? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow He does indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard In honestest defence. MARIANA The gods forbid else! Widow So, now they come: Drum and Colours Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA Which is the Frenchman? DIANA He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he loved his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA I like him well. DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave That leads him to these places: were I his lady, I would Poison that vile rascal. HELENA Which is he? DIANA That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. PAROLLES Lose our drum! well. MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Widow Marry, hang you! MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. HELENA I humbly thank you: Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. BOTH We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords Second Lord Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Second Lord On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Second Lord Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. First Lord It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him. First Lord None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. Second Lord I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. First Lord O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES Second Lord [Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. First Lord A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,--to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! First Lord That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES It might have been recovered. BERTRAM It might; but it is not now. PAROLLES It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. PAROLLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES I love not many words. Exit Second Lord No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do and dares better be damned than to do't? First Lord You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Second Lord None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. First Lord We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. Second Lord I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me. Second Lord As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord But you say she's honest. BERTRAM That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: Will you go see her? First Lord With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA and Widow HELENA If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Widow Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Widow I should believe you: For you have show'd me that which well approves You're great in fortune. HELENA Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Widow Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is passed already. Widow I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves; for he persists As if his life lay on't. HELENA Why then to-night Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush Second Lord He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter. First Soldier Good captain, let me be the interpreter. Second Lord Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? First Soldier No, sir, I warrant you. Second Lord But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? First Soldier E'en such as you speak to me. Second Lord He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. Second Lord This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. Second Lord Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Second Lord We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. Second Lord 'Twould not do. PAROLLES Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. Second Lord Hardly serve. PAROLLES Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. Second Lord How deep? PAROLLES Thirty fathom. Second Lord Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. Second Lord You shall hear one anon. PAROLLES A drum now of the enemy's,-- Alarum within Second Lord Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. They seize and blindfold him First Soldier Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES I know you are the Muskos' regiment: And I shall lose my life for want of language; If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Soldier Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES O! First Soldier O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. Second Lord Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Soldier The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES O, let me live! And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. First Soldier But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES If I do not, damn me. First Soldier Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within Second Lord Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. Second Soldier Captain, I will. Second Lord A' will betray us all unto ourselves: Inform on that. Second Soldier So I will, sir. Second Lord Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA She then was honest. BERTRAM So should you be. DIANA No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM No more o' that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM How have I sworn! DIANA 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, At least in my opinion. BERTRAM Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me. DIANA Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. DIANA Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault. BERTRAM Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers First Lord You have not given him his mother's letter? Second Lord I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man. First Lord He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. Second Lord Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. First Lord When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Second Lord He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. First Lord Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we! Second Lord Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. First Lord Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Second Lord Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. First Lord That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Second Lord We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. First Lord In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? Second Lord I hear there is an overture of peace. First Lord Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Second Lord What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? First Lord I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Second Lord Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. First Lord Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. Second Lord How is this justified? First Lord The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Second Lord Hath the count all this intelligence? First Lord Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. Second Lord I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. First Lord How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! Second Lord And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Messenger How now! where's your master? Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. Second Lord They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. First Lord They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. Second Lord If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. Second Lord Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Second Lord I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'? Second Lord His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me: hush, hush! First Lord Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa First Soldier He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em? PAROLLES I will confess what I know without constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. First Soldier Bosko chimurcho. First Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. First Soldier You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES And truly, as I hope to live. First Soldier [Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. First Soldier Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! First Lord You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Second Lord I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. First Lord He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES Poor rogues, I pray you, say. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. First Soldier [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM What shall be done to him? First Lord Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. First Soldier Well, that's set down. Reads 'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what do you know of it? PAROLLES I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly. First Soldier Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. First Soldier Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. First Lord Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. First Soldier What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. First Soldier Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters in my tent. First Soldier Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? PAROLLES I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well. First Lord Excellently. First Soldier [Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- PAROLLES That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. First Soldier Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. PAROLLES My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue! First Soldier [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. Second Lord This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. First Soldier I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. First Soldier We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? PAROLLES He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. First Lord I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. First Soldier What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. First Lord He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still. First Soldier His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. First Soldier What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? Second Lord Why does be ask him of me? First Soldier What's he? PAROLLES E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES [Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. PAROLLES O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him So, look about you: know you any here? BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on't yet PAROLLES Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers PAROLLES Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA HELENA That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be before our welcome. Widow Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown LAFEU No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. Clown I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Clown A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU Your distinction? Clown I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. LAFEU So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clown And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown At your service. LAFEU No, no, no. Clown Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU Who's that? a Frenchman? Clown Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU What prince is that? Clown The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clown I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clown If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy. COUNTESS So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. COUNTESS It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together. LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that. Clown But it is your carbonadoed face. LAFEU Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clown Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants HELENA But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. Gentleman And you. HELENA Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gentleman I have been sometimes there. HELENA I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gentleman What's your will? HELENA That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. Gentleman The king's not here. HELENA Not here, sir! Gentleman Not, indeed: He hence removed last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gentleman This I'll do for you. HELENA And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following PAROLLES Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clown Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. LAFEU And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. PAROLLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me! LAFEU Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. Trumpets sound The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. PAROLLES I praise God for you. Exeunt SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants KING We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. Gentleman I shall, my liege. Exit KING What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? LAFEU All that he is hath reference to your highness. KING Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU He looks well on't. KING I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING Well excused: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. BERTRAM gives a ring By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM Hers it was not. KING Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never Receive the ring again. KING Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM She never saw it. KING Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And makest conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize BERTRAM My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded KING I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman Gentleman Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. KING [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. KING The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded KING I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter Widow and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING Come hither, count; do you know these women? BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? DIANA Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. DIANA Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. KING What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. COUNTESS He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring's a thousand proofs. KING Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. LAFEU I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant BERTRAM What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? KING She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA I must be patient: You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet; Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM I have it not. KING What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. DIANA And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA Ay, my lord. KING Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING How, I pray you? PAROLLES He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING How is that? PAROLLES He loved her, sir, and loved her not. KING As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. LAFEU He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA Do you know he promised me marriage? PAROLLES Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? PAROLLES Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA Ay, my good lord. KING Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? DIANA It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING Who lent it you? DIANA It was not lent me neither. KING Where did you find it, then? DIANA I found it not. KING If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA I never gave it him. LAFEU This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. KING This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. DIANA It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA I'll never tell you. KING Take her away. DIANA I'll put in bail, my liege. KING I think thee now some common customer. DIANA By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? DIANA Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. KING She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. DIANA Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: Exit Widow The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA KING Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon! HELENA O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: To PAROLLES Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. To DIANA If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish EPILOGUE KING The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt As You Like It Shakespeare homepage | As You Like It | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother. ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here? ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. OLIVER What mar you then, sir? ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? OLIVER Know you where your are, sir? ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. OLIVER Know you before whom, sir? ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OLIVER What, boy! ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OLIVER Let me go, I say. ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog. ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS DENNIS Calls your worship? OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. OLIVER Call him in. Exit DENNIS 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES CHARLES Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. OLIVER Where will the old duke live? CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder. CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so God keep your worship! OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. Exit CHARLES Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. Exit SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? CELIA Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then? CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. CELIA 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE CELIA No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. CELIA Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. ROSALIND With his mouth full of news. CELIA Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter LE BEAU Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA Sport! of what colour? LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you? ROSALIND As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE Or as the Destinies decree. CELIA Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank,-- ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND You tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,-- CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men by these presents.' LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND Alas! TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants DUKE FREDERICK Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND Is yonder the man? LE BEAU Even he, madam. CELIA Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can tell you; there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK Do so: I'll not be by. LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA And mine, to eke out hers. ROSALIND Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you! CELIA Your heart's desires be with you! CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK You shall try but one fall. CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. ROSALIND Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. They wrestle ROSALIND O excellent young man! CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. Shout. CHARLES is thrown DUKE FREDERICK No more, no more. ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK I would thou hadst been son to some man else: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: I would thou hadst told me of another father. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU CELIA Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND Gentleman, Giving him a chain from her neck Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA Will you go, coz? ROSALIND Have with you. Fare you well. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause and love, Yet such is now the duke's condition That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous; what he is indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, Grounded upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Exit LE BEAU Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: But heavenly Rosalind! Exit SCENE III. A room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word? ROSALIND Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA But is all this for your father? ROSALIND No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. CELIA Hem them away. ROSALIND I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. CELIA Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! CELIA O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? ROSALIND The duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? ROSALIND Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. CELIA With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. ROSALIND Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness. DUKE FREDERICK Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. ROSALIND Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. ROSALIND So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish'd him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. CELIA Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords CELIA O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND I have more cause. CELIA Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? ROSALIND That he hath not. CELIA No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. ROSALIND Why, whither shall we go? CELIA To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. ROSALIND Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA I'll put myself in poor and mean attire And with a kind of umber smirch my face; The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-- We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? CELIA Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. AMIENS Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? Second Lord We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR Show me the place: I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. First Lord I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. Second Lord My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me; I'll make him find him: do this suddenly, And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting ORLANDO Who's there? ADAM What, my young master? O, my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO Why, what's the matter? ADAM O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son-- Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father-- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practises. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; And all this I give you. Let me be your servant: Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry But come thy ways; well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Aliena! CELIA I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. ROSALIND Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. TOUCHSTONE And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE Holla, you clown! ROSALIND Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN Who calls? TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. CORIN Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succor. CORIN Fair sir, I pity her And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see. And in my voice most welcome shall you be. ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt SCENE V. The Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others SONG. AMIENS Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. AMIENS My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you. JAQUES I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos? AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you. JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun All together here And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS And I'll sing it. JAQUES Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS What's that 'ducdame'? JAQUES 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. Exeunt severally SCENE VI. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt SCENE VII. The forest. A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws DUKE SENIOR I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. First Lord My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song. DUKE SENIOR If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES First Lord He saves my labour by his own approach. DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. JAQUES It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The 'why' is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not of my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it. DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have That to your wanting may be minister'd. ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. DUKE SENIOR Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. JAQUES All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. ORLANDO I thank you most for him. ADAM So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. DUKE SENIOR Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. SONG. AMIENS Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing, & c. DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER DUKE FREDERICK Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth Of what we think against thee. OLIVER O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Exit Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CORIN And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN No, truly. TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned. CORIN Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance. CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. CORIN Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading ROSALIND From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. ROSALIND Out, fool! TOUCHSTONE For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. ROSALIND I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing ROSALIND Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. CELIA [Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. ROSALIND O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people!' CELIA How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA Didst thou hear these verses? ROSALIND O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. CELIA That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. CELIA Trow you who hath done this? ROSALIND Is it a man? CELIA And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? ROSALIND I prithee, who? CELIA O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. ROSALIND Nay, but who is it? CELIA Is it possible? ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! ROSALIND Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that may drink thy tidings. CELIA So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard. ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. CELIA I' faith, coz, 'tis he. ROSALIND Orlando? CELIA Orlando. ROSALIND Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. ROSALIND It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed. CELIA There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CELIA Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. ROSALIND O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CELIA I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CELIA You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES ROSALIND 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. JAQUES I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. JAQUES God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can. ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. JAQUES Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO Yes, just. JAQUES I do not like her name. ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. JAQUES What stature is she of? ORLANDO Just as high as my heart. JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings? ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery. ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love. ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. JAQUES I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO Very well: what would you? ROSALIND I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? ROSALIND By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal. ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal. ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO Who stays it still withal? ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. ORLANDO Are you native of this place? ROSALIND As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it. ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them. ROSALIND No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy. ROSALIND There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO What were his marks? ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth. ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. ROSALIND Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth. ROSALIND Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind TOUCHSTONE Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? AUDREY Your features! Lord warrant us! what features! TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. JAQUES [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house! TOUCHSTONE When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUDREY I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? TOUCHSTONE No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. AUDREY Would you not have me honest? TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. JAQUES [Aside] A material fool! AUDREY Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. JAQUES [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy! TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? C ourage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the woman? TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES [Advancing] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. JAQUES Will you be married, motley? TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. TOUCHSTONE 'Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,-- O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee: but,-- Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY SIR OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. Exit SCENE IV. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND Never talk to me; I will weep. CELIA Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep? CELIA As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CELIA Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND Do you think so? CELIA Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND Not true in love? CELIA Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA Well, and what of him? CORIN If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind PHEBE I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS O dear Phebe, If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. PHEBE But till that time Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed-- Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. PHEBE Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHEBE For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN PHEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,-- PHEBE Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me. PHEBE Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. PHEBE Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS I would have you. PHEBE Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. PHEBE Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHEBE Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Between the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart. PHEBE I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. The forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND They say you are a melancholy fellow. JAQUES I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND Why then, 'tis good to be a post. JAQUES I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES Yes, I have gained my experience. ROSALIND And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too! Enter ORLANDO ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit ROSALIND Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO Of a snail? ROSALIND Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO What's that? ROSALIND Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND And I am your Rosalind. CELIA It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO What, of my suit? ROSALIND Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND Well in her person I say I will not have you. ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die. ROSALIND No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. ROSALIND By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO What sayest thou? ROSALIND Are you not good? ORLANDO I hope so. ROSALIND Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us. CELIA I cannot say the words. ROSALIND You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' CELIA Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO I will. ROSALIND Ay, but when? ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged. ROSALIND Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO For ever and a day. ROSALIND Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO O, but she is wise. ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. ROSALIND Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA And I'll sleep. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? A Lord Sir, it was I. JAQUES Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? Forester Yes, sir. JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. SONG. Forester What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it. ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention and his hand. SILVIUS Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. ROSALIND She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS Call you this railing? ROSALIND [Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. SILVIUS Call you this chiding? CELIA Alas, poor shepherd! ROSALIND Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit SILVIUS Enter OLIVER OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There's none within. OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.' Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLIVER Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND I am: what must we understand by this? OLIVER Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain'd. CELIA I pray you, tell it. OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. ROSALIND But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked. CELIA Are you his brother? ROSALIND Wast you he rescued? CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER 'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. ROSALIND But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER By and by. When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place:-- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. ROSALIND swoons CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! OLIVER Look, he recovers. ROSALIND I would I were at home. CELIA We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man's heart. ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter WILLIAM WILLIAM Good even, Audrey. AUDREY God ye good even, William. WILLIAM And good even to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM William, sir. TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so. TOUCHSTONE 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM No, sir. TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. WILLIAM Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this female,--which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY Do, good William. WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir. Exit Enter CORIN CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away! TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? OLIVER Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke and all's contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND God save you, brother. OLIVER And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO It is my arm. ROSALIND I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that. ROSALIND O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger. ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings? ROSALIND By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array: bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. PHEBE Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. ROSALIND I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. PHEBE Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And so am I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And so am I for no woman. PHEBE If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ROSALIND Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: To ORLANDO I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: To SILVIUS I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live. PHEBE Nor I. ORLANDO Nor I. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages First Page Well met, honest gentleman. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. Second Page We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Second Page I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, & c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, & c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, & c. TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. First Page You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt SCENE IV. The forest. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA DUKE SENIOR Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE ROSALIND Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here? DUKE SENIOR That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. ROSALIND You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? PHEBE That will I, should I die the hour after. ROSALIND But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? PHEBE So is the bargain. ROSALIND You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY JAQUES There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all! JAQUES Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. JAQUES And how was that ta'en up? TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. JAQUES How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR I like him very well. TOUCHSTONE God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. JAQUES Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA Still Music HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. ROSALIND [To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours. To ORLANDO To you I give myself, for I am yours. DUKE SENIOR If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! ROSALIND I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. HYMEN Peace, ho! I bar confusion: 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! DUKE SENIOR O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. PHEBE I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS JAQUES DE BOYS Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. DUKE SENIOR Welcome, young man; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. JAQUES Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? JAQUES DE BOYS He hath. JAQUES To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE SENIOR You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: To ORLANDO You to a love that your true faith doth merit: To OLIVER You to your land and love and great allies: To SILVIUS You to a long and well-deserved bed: To TOUCHSTONE And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay. JAQUES To see no pastime I what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. A dance EPILOGUE ROSALIND It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. Exeunt The Comedy of Errors Shakespeare homepage | Comedy of Errors | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die. AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed 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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased 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 meaner 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 embraced, 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, Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd 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, Dispersed 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 SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON 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 encounterd 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 seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt SCENE II. The Mart. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant First 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 dinner-time: 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 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? First 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 bed-time: 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. First Merchant Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit 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, falling 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 to-day. 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 darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE 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 undisposed: 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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit 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. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad. When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain; Would that alone, alone 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, and 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. A public place. 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 received 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 displeased. 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. Beating him 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 demeanor 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: an 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 trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'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, Want wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 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-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! 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. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR 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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR 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, Cicel, 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 [Within] 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 [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. LUCE [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Let my master in, Luce. LUCE [Within] 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 [Within] Have at you with another; that's--When? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? OF EPHESUS LUCE [Within] I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Master, knock the door hard. LUCE [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. LUCE [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? ADRIANA [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Are you there, wife? you might have come before. ADRIANA [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 there 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You have prevailed: 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. To Angelo 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. The First part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others KING HENRY IV 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; Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets 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 moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north and thus it did import: On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the 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 HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 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 call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath 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 HENRY IV 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. London. An apartment of the Prince's. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? PRINCE HENRY 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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY What, none? FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HENRY 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 fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt. FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 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 HENRY Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HENRY Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF Why, that's well said. PRINCE HENRY Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 vizards we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. PRINCE HENRY 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 lies the jest. PRINCE HENRY Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. POINS Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins PRINCE HENRY I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked 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 behavior 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, glittering 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. London. The palace. Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others KING HENRY IV 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. EARL OF 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 HENRY IV 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 You were about to speak. To North 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 misprison 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, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, 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 sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre 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 answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. SIR WALTER BLUNT The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV 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 but 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, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. KING HENRY IV 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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. Exeunt 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. Re-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 Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 wished 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, An 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-- EARL OF 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 he 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! EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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; Forbad 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure. HOTSPUR I have done, i' faith. EARL OF 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. You, my lord, To Northumberland 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? EARL OF 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? EARL OF WORCESTER And so they shall. HOTSPUR In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds fleas like a loach. First Carrier What, ostler! come away and be hanged! Second Carrier I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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 gentleman: they will along with company, for they have great charge. Exeunt carriers GADSHILL What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain [Within] 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. Enter Chamberlain 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 St. 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 Trojans that thou dreamest 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, cocksure; 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 highway, near Gadshill. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS POINS Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. PRINCE HENRY Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! PRINCE HENRY Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! FALSTAFF Where's Poins, Hal? PRINCE HENRY He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him. 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 squier 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 hath 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 HENRY Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? FALSTAFF Go, 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, BARDOLPH and PETO GADSHILL Stand. FALSTAFF So I do, against my will. POINS O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news? BARDOLPH Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? FALSTAFF Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. PRINCE HENRY Well, we leave that to the proof. POINS Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. FALSTAFF Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. PRINCE HENRY Ned, where are our disguises? POINS Here, hard by: stand close. Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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! Travellers Jesus 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. Travellers 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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY 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. 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. PRINCE HENRY Your money! POINS Villains! As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them PRINCE HENRY 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 rogue roar'd! Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth castle Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night. 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 cursed 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 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 by 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, An 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. God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY It must of force. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. POINS Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE HENRY With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet 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 under-skinker, 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. POINS Francis! PRINCE HENRY Thou art perfect. POINS Francis! Exit POINS Enter FRANCIS FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. PRINCE HENRY Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-- POINS [Within] Francis! FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner Poins! Re-enter POINS POINS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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. Re-enter FRANCIS What's o'clock, Francis? FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Exit PRINCE HENRY 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 to-day?' '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; FRANCIS following 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? He drinks PRINCE HENRY 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 villanous 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 live 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 any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 to-day. PRINCE HENRY O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. FALSTAFF All's one for that. He drinks A plague of all cowards, still say I. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Where is it, Jack? where is it? FALSTAFF Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE HENRY 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 hand-saw--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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,-- FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,-- FALSTAFF 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,-- PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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 HENRY Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord the prince! PRINCE HENRY How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, do, Jack. FALSTAFF 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit FALSTAFF PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY '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 HENRY 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 rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE HENRY I do. BARDOLPH What think you they portend? PRINCE HENRY Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE HENRY No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-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 o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,-- PRINCE HENRY He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF You have hit it. PRINCE HENRY So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. PRINCE HENRY Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE HENRY Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY 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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY 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 three score; 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I do, I will. A knocking heard Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH Re-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. Re-enter the Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord, my lord! PRINCE HENRY 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 mad, without seeming so. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Call in the sheriff. Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house. PRINCE HENRY What men? Sheriff One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier As fat as butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing 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 HENRY 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 HENRY I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sheriff Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers What hast thou found? PETO Nothing but papers, my lord. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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. Exeunt PETO Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III SCENE I. Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the 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 distemperature, 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's 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, To-morrow, 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, Not shall we need his help these fourteen days. 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 damm'd 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. EARL OF 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 alter'd. 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 axle-tree; 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 GLENDOWER MORTIMER Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! HOTSPUR I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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. EARL OF WORCESTER In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside 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. Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies MORTIMER This is the deadly spite that angers me; My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER My daughter weeps: she will 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same GLENDOWER She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks 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 learned 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. The lady speaks 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 is so humorous. By'r lady, he is 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 HOTSPUR 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'st 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 red-breast 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. The palace. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others KING HENRY IV 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 HENRY 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, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. KING HENRY IV 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 doth 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 capering 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself. KING HENRY IV 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 swathling 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 near'st 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 HENRY 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 HENRY IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. SIR WALTER 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 the state. KING HENRY IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; 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. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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! The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel,-- the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. FALSTAFF Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked a' should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant Page Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF Wait, close; I will not see him. Lord Chief-Justice What's he that goes there? Servant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Lord Chief-Justice He that was in question for the robbery? Servant He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Chief-Justice What, to York? Call him back again. Servant Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Lord Chief-Justice I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Servant Sir John! FALSTAFF What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Servant You mistake me, sir. FALSTAFF Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Servant I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Servant Sir, my lord would speak with you. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. FALSTAFF My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Lord Chief-Justice I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you. FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Lord Chief-Justice What tell you me of it? be it as it is. FALSTAFF It hath its original from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. Lord Chief-Justice I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. FALSTAFF Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Lord Chief-Justice To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. FALSTAFF I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. Lord Chief-Justice I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. FALSTAFF As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Lord Chief-Justice Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Lord Chief-Justice You have misled the youthful prince. FALSTAFF The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Lord Chief-Justice Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. FALSTAFF My lord? Lord Chief-Justice But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Lord Chief-Justice What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Lord Chief-Justice There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Lord Chief-Justice You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Lord Chief-Justice Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have chequed him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God send the prince a better companion! FALSTAFF God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. FALSTAFF Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Lord Chief-Justice Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Lord Chief-Justice Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant FALSTAFF If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page Sir? FALSTAFF What money is in my purse? Page Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. Exit Page A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? MOWBRAY I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied How in our means we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. HASTINGS Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. LORD BARDOLPH The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? HASTINGS With him, we may. LORD BARDOLPH Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. LORD BARDOLPH It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. HASTINGS But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. LORD BARDOLPH Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. HASTINGS Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. LORD BARDOLPH What, is the king but five and twenty thousand? HASTINGS To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HASTINGS If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. LORD BARDOLPH Who is it like should lead his forces hither? HASTINGS The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Let us on, And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard lived, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed! Past and to come seems best; things present worst. MOWBRAY Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? HASTINGS We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. London. A street. Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following. MISTRESS QUICKLY Master Fang, have you entered the action? FANG It is entered. MISTRESS QUICKLY Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? FANG Sirrah, where's Snare? MISTRESS QUICKLY O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. SNARE Here, here. FANG Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. MISTRESS QUICKLY Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. MISTRESS QUICKLY No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. FANG An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,-- MISTRESS QUICKLY I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH FALSTAFF How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter? FANG Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. FALSTAFF Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the channel. MISTRESS QUICKLY Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. FALSTAFF Keep them off, Bardolph. FANG A rescue! a rescue! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! FALSTAFF Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men Lord Chief-Justice What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. Lord Chief-Justice How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time and business? You should have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him? MISTRESS QUICKLY O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Lord Chief-Justice For what sum? MISTRESS QUICKLY It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. FALSTAFF I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Lord Chief-Justice How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? FALSTAFF What is the gross sum that I owe thee? MISTRESS QUICKLY Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. FALSTAFF My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the town that the eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and in person. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, in truth, my lord. Lord Chief-Justice Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. FALSTAFF My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Lord Chief-Justice You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this poor woman. FALSTAFF Come hither, hostess. Enter GOWER Lord Chief-Justice Now, Master Gower, what news? GOWER The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. MISTRESS QUICKLY Faith, you said so before. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it. MISTRESS QUICKLY By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. FALSTAFF Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. MISTRESS QUICKLY Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! FALSTAFF Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still. MISTRESS QUICKLY Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together? FALSTAFF Will I live? To BARDOLPH Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on. MISTRESS QUICKLY Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? FALSTAFF No more words; let's have her. Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy Lord Chief-Justice I have heard better news. FALSTAFF What's the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Where lay the king last night? GOWER At Basingstoke, my lord. FALSTAFF I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Come all his forces back? GOWER No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. FALSTAFF Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Lord Chief-Justice You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. FALSTAFF My lord! Lord Chief-Justice What's the matter? FALSTAFF Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? GOWER I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. FALSTAFF Will you sup with me, Master Gower? Lord Chief-Justice What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John? FALSTAFF Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Lord Chief-Justice Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool. Exeunt SCENE II. London. Another street. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Before God, I am exceeding weary. POINS Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. PRINCE HENRY Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? POINS Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition. PRINCE HENRY Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. POINS How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? PRINCE HENRY Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? POINS Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. PRINCE HENRY It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. POINS Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. PRINCE HENRY Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too. POINS Very hardly upon such a subject. PRINCE HENRY By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. POINS The reason? PRINCE HENRY What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? POINS I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. PRINCE HENRY It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? POINS Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff. PRINCE HENRY And to thee. POINS By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page PRINCE HENRY And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. BARDOLPH God save your grace! PRINCE HENRY And yours, most noble Bardolph! BARDOLPH Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? Page A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. PRINCE HENRY Has not the boy profited? BARDOLPH Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Page Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! PRINCE HENRY Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? Page Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. PRINCE HENRY A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy. POINS O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. BARDOLPH An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. PRINCE HENRY And how doth thy master, Bardolph? BARDOLPH Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you. POINS Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master? BARDOLPH In bodily health, sir. POINS Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. PRINCE HENRY I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes. POINS [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' PRINCE HENRY Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter. POINS [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. PRINCE HENRY Peace! POINS [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.' My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. PRINCE HENRY That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister? POINS God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. PRINCE HENRY Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? BARDOLPH Yea, my lord. PRINCE HENRY Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? BARDOLPH At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY What company? Page Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. PRINCE HENRY Sup any women with him? Page None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. PRINCE HENRY What pagan may that be? Page A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. PRINCE HENRY Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? POINS I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. PRINCE HENRY Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. BARDOLPH I have no tongue, sir. Page And for mine, sir, I will govern it. PRINCE HENRY Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. POINS I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. PRINCE HENRY How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? POINS Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. PRINCE HENRY From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY NORTHUMBERLAND I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! let them alone: The marshal and the archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way: Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers First Drawer What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. Second Drawer Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that. First Drawer Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. Second Drawer Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. First Drawer By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem. Second Drawer I'll see if I can find out Sneak. Exit Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET MISTRESS QUICKLY I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? DOLL TEARSHEET Better than I was: hem! The Life of King Henry the Fifth Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Exit SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged, Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of farther question. ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands which men devout By testament have given to the church Would they strip from us; being valued thus: As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil. A hundred almshouses right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill. ELY This would drink deep. CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all. ELY But what prevention? CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard. ELY And a true lover of the holy church. CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment Consideration, like an angel, came And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat and all at once As in this king. ELY We are blessed in the change. CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity, And all-admiring with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain, His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscured his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected. ELY But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? CANTERBURY He seems indifferent, Or rather swaying more upon our part Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; For I have made an offer to his majesty, Upon our spiritual convocation And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France, to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord? CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty; Save that there was not time enough to hear, As I perceived his grace would fain have done, The severals and unhidden passages Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms And generally to the crown and seat of France Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. ELY What was the impediment that broke this off? CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? ELY It is. CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Presence chamber. Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? EXETER Not here in presence. KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle. WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved, Before we hear him, of some things of weight That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne And make you long become it! KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why the law Salique that they have in France Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; For never two such kingdoms did contend Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord; For we will hear, note and believe in heart That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, That owe yourselves, your lives and services To this imperial throne. There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Then doth it well appear that Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly supposed the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, To find his title with some shows of truth, 'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. KING HENRY V May I with right and conscience make this claim? CANTERBURY The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, When the man dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back into your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English. that could entertain With half their forces the full Pride of France And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action! ELY Awake remembrance of these valiant dead And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. EXETER Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. WESTMORELAND They know your grace hath cause and means and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. CANTERBURY O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood and sword and fire to win your right; In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. KING HENRY V We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. CANTERBURY They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. KING HENRY V We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force, Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. CANTERBURY She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege; For hear her but exampled by herself: When all her chivalry hath been in France And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. WESTMORELAND But there's a saying very old and true, 'If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin:' For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. EXETER It follows then the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home; For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. CANTERBURY Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. KING HENRY V Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. Exeunt some Attendants Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. First Ambassador May't please your majesty to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? KING HENRY V We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. First Ambassador Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says that you savour too much of your youth, And bids you be advised there's nought in France That can be with a nimble galliard won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there. He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. KING HENRY V What treasure, uncle? EXETER Tennis-balls, my liege. KING HENRY V We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present and your pains we thank you for: When we have march'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, Be like a king and show my sail of greatness When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty And plodded like a man for working-days, But I will rise there with so full a glory That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten and unborn That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, To venge me as I may and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors EXETER This was a merry message. KING HENRY V We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected and all things thought upon That may with reasonable swiftness add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flourish ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed! Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nym. NYM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. BARDOLPH What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? NYM For my part, I care not: I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. NYM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. NYM I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter PISTOL and Hostess BARDOLPH Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol! PISTOL Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Hostess No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. NYM and PISTOL draw O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. BARDOLPH Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. NYM Pish! PISTOL Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Hostess Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. NYM Will you shog off? I would have you solus. PISTOL 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. NYM I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it. PISTOL O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. Draws PISTOL An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall. NYM I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it. PISTOL 'Couple a gorge!' That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to. Enter the Boy Boy Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. BARDOLPH Away, you rogue! Hostess By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy BARDOLPH Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? PISTOL Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! NYM You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL Base is the slave that pays. NYM That now I will have: that's the humour of it. PISTOL As manhood shall compound: push home. They draw BARDOLPH By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. PISTOL Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. BARDOLPH Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. NYM I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. NYM I shall have my noble? PISTOL In cash most justly paid. NYM Well, then, that's the humour of't. Re-enter Hostess Hostess As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. NYM The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. PISTOL Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. NYM The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. PISTOL Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND BEDFORD 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. EXETER They shall be apprehended by and by. WESTMORELAND How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. EXETER Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants KING HENRY V Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY V I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE Never was monarch better fear'd and loved Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY V We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. KING HENRY V We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him. SCROOP That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY V O, let us yet be merciful. CAMBRIDGE So may your highness, and yet punish too. GREY Sir, You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. KING HENRY V Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested, Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punished. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners? CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord: Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP So did you me, my liege. GREY And I, my royal sovereign. KING HENRY V Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. GREY SCROOP To which we all appeal. KING HENRY V The mercy that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law; And God acquit them of their practises! EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. SCROOP Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. CAMBRIDGE For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. GREY Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY V God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers Received the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy Hostess Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. BARDOLPH Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. NYM They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Ay, that a' did. BARDOLPH And of women. Hostess Nay, that a' did not. Boy Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils incarnate. Hostess A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy A' said once, the devil would have him about women. Hostess A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? BARDOLPH Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. NYM Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy c rystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy And that's but unwholesome food they say. PISTOL Touch her soft mouth, and march. BARDOLPH Farewell, hostess. Kissing her NYM I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. PISTOL Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. Hostess Farewell; adieu. Exeunt SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace. Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others KING OF FRANCE Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. DAUPHIN My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems: So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth. KING OF FRANCE Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger Messenger Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. KING OF FRANCE We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. DAUPHIN Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train KING OF FRANCE From our brother England? EXETER From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line, In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. KING OF FRANCE Or else what follows? EXETER Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. KING OF FRANCE For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. DAUPHIN For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: what to him from England? EXETER Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. DAUPHIN Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. KING OF FRANCE To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. KING OF FRANCE You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions: A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum, and chambers go off And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders KING HENRY V Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off SCENE II. The same. Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PISTOL And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN FLUELLEN Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward PISTOL Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! NYM These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy Boy As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. FLUELLEN It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER I think it be. FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY GOWER Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. FLUELLEN God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? MACMORRIS By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! JAMY By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation-- MACMORRIS Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? FLUELLEN Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY A! that's a foul fault. A parley sounded GOWER The town sounds a parley. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Before the gates. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train KING HENRY V How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? GOVERNOR Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible. KING HENRY V Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Flourish. The King and his train enter the town SCENE IV. The FRENCH KING's palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE KATHARINE Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. ALICE Un peu, madame. KATHARINE Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois? ALICE La main? elle est appelee de hand. KATHARINE De hand. Et les doigts? ALICE Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres. KATHARINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. KATHARINE De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. ALICE C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. KATHARINE Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras. ALICE De arm, madame. KATHARINE Et le coude? ALICE De elbow. KATHARINE De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHARINE Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. ALICE De elbow, madame. KATHARINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? ALICE De neck, madame. KATHARINE De nick. Et le menton? ALICE De chin. KATHARINE De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin. ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. KATHARINE Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. ALICE N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHARINE Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de fingres, de mails-- ALICE De nails, madame. KATHARINE De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. KATHARINE Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? ALICE De foot, madame; et de coun. KATHARINE De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. ALICE Excellent, madame! KATHARINE C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others KING OF FRANCE 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? BOURBON Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! Poor we may call them in their native lords. DAUPHIN By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BOURBON They bid us to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; Saying our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. KING OF FRANCE Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence: Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Constable This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear And for achievement offer us his ransom. KING OF FRANCE Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty. KING OF FRANCE Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, lord constable and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but did see him do as gallant service. GOWER What do you call him? FLUELLEN He is called Aunchient Pistol. GOWER I know him not. Enter PISTOL FLUELLEN Here is the man. PISTOL Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. PISTOL Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone-- FLUELLEN By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. FLUELLEN Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. The First part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright-- Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter to them another Messenger Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun. Enter another Messenger Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face. BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation. Exit GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor, And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves: Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or fly. Exeunt Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I! Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone. ALENCON Be it so. Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. CHARLES Go, call her in. Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS But first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern: By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash. JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou darest, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms: Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence. JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon And fightest with the sword of Deborah. JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out. JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously? First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector? First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here? GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats BISHOP OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this? GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I'll use to carry thee out of this place. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face. GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard, I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince. GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst, Cry. Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt SCENE IV. Orleans. Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Exit Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame: My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a linstock SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one and view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next. GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Thou shalt not die whiles-- He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.' Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? Enter a Messenger Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Here they fight TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. A short alarum Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Alarum. Here another skirmish It will not be: retire into your trenches: You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? TALBOT A maid, they say. BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial! BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner. BURGUNDY And I to this. TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault! Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so? BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend! At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure. REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord. CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in? JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. Exit SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him? Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company? BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. Whispers You perceive my mind? Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Porter Madam, I will. Exit COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and TALBOT Messenger Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Messenger Madam, it is. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter with keys COUNTESS The Second part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 2 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task and was espoused: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received. KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And over-joy of heart doth minister. KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech, Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; Such is the fulness of my heart's content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all. Flourish SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father'-- Lets the paper fall KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now! GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent over of the King of England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down: We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for the great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, Undoing all, as all had never been! CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy. But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery: For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu! YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives: And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have stayed in France and starved in France, Before-- CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: It was the pleasure of my lord the King. GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings. Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir apparent to the English crown: Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay: I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal: His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o' the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: Join we together, for the public good, In what we can, to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country! YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main. WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain, Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, While all is shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own: So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; And in my standard bear the arms of York To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows. DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me And on my head did set the diadem. GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more! DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque'd. GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter Messenger Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee and I. Enter HUME HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty! DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your grace's title shall be multiplied. DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? HUME This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him. DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban's we do make return, We'll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;' Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me? First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine? First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here! Reads 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. SUFFOLK Who is there? Enter Servant Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. Exit Servant with PETER QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Tears the supplication Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. ALL Come, let's be gone. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king? What shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester's governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, And placed a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd the regentship. SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field. BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all. SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this. QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women's matters. QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be protector of his excellence? GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?-- The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck; The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not? She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman: Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. Exit BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit Re-enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law: But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick! WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason: Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these? SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown And that your majesty was a usurper. KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words? HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigor of the law. HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent over the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant's malice: This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty. HORNER And I accept the combat willingly. PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, and leave us. Exit HUME Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear the sooner the better. BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth Spirit Adsum. MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' Reading out of a paper Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end. BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' Spirit Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this? Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close. And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. Stafford, take her to thee. Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away! Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? Reads 'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.' Why, this is just 'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' Well, to the rest: 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.' Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardly attain'd, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servingman Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy. CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. GLOUCESTER As who, my lord? SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord, An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester. KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the matter; In thine own person answer thy abuse. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if thou darest, This evening, on the east side of the grove. KING HENRY VI How now, my lords! CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport. Aside to GLOUCESTER Come with thy two-hand sword. GLOUCESTER True, uncle. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the east side of the grove? GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Aside to CARDINAL Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum-- Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!' GLOUCESTER What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Townsman A miracle! a miracle! SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife Ay, indeed, was he. SUFFOLK What woman is this? Wife His wife, an't like your worship. GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born? SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. CARDINAL What, art thou lame? SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me! SUFFOLK How camest thou so? SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree. Wife A plum-tree, master. GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind? SIMPCOX Born so, master. GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree? SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood. GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see. GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife Never, before this day, in all his life. GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not. GLOUCESTER What's his name? SIMPCOX I know not. GLOUCESTER Nor his? SIMPCOX No, indeed, master. GLOUCESTER What's thine own name? SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightest as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again? SIMPCOX O master, that you could! GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently. Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. Exit an Attendant GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. Enter a Beadle with whips GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!' KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run. GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away. GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BUCKINGHAM KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers: Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy-council; As more at large your grace shall understand. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart: Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest. And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have loved my king and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is, but if she have forgot Honour and virtue and conversed with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here: To-morrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly And call these foul offenders to their answers And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself, In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England's crown. SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full. WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. YORK Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth: Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reign'd. SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir. YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March: Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest. YORK His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days: Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king. Exeunt SCENE III. A hall of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution: The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days' open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee: I cannot justify whom the law condemns. Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go, Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert protector to thy King. QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England's realm. Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: As willingly do I the same resign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once; His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it; and God defend the right! YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter! First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid. Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already. SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? PETER Peter, forsooth. SALISBURY Peter! what more? PETER Thump. SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow! YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. Dies YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For his death we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. Sound a flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what's o'clock? Servants Ten, my lord. GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month. GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit Herald My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell! DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state. DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully? STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady; According to that state you shall be used. DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go? STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, And when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual. SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? YORK And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted. BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall. QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he's disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SOMERSET SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign! KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done! YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here. GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God! YORK In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny. GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else. SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent. GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness' land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide. GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak. BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded The Third part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 3 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. Throwing down SOMERSET's head YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. They go up WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK I am thine. EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-- Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? YORK What then? KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I. CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter! WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! Sennet. Here they come down YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came. Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt SCENE II. Sandal Castle. Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK About what? RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK What, with five thousand men? RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him! Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! Exit, dragged off by Soldiers CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- Lifting his hand RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD Thy father hath. RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. Stabs him RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! Dies CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A short alarum within Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. They lay hands on YORK, who struggles CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Putting a paper crown on his head Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Stabbing him QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. Stabbing him YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. Dies QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger WARWICK How now! what news? Messenger The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt SCENE II. Before York. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets QUEEN MARGARET Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger Messenger Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers EDWARD Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward. EDWARD No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. Exeunt SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE GEORGE Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD RICHARD Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD RICHARD Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone KING HENRY VI This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body Son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body Father Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body Father These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY VI Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER PRINCE EDWARD Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt SCENE VI. Another part of the field. A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded CLIFFORD Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. He faints Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers EDWARD Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. CLIFFORD groans, and dies EDWARD Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A forest in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands First Keeper Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook KING HENRY VI From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt SCENE II. London. The palace. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY KING EDWARD IV Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! KING EDWARD IV Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD IV How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. KING EDWARD IV 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire KING EDWARD IV Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. LADY GREY Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. KING EDWARD IV But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. KING EDWARD IV [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty: One way or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-- Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? LADY GREY 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. KING EDWARD IV Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman Nobleman My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day. SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? NORFOLK I thank your grace, Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren. NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? BUCKINGHAM All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. NORFOLK Then you lost The view of earthly glory: men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. To-day the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this masque Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise: and, being present both 'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-- For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed. BUCKINGHAM O, you go far. NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. BUCKINGHAM Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord? NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth. NORFOLK Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied For eminent assistants; but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: whence has he that, If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. BUCKINGHAM Why the devil, Upon this French going out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. ABERGAVENNY I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. BUCKINGHAM O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? NORFOLK Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. BUCKINGHAM Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy; That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. NORFOLK Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore The ambassador is silenced? NORFOLK Marry, is't. ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased At a superfluous rate! BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. NORFOLK Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you-- And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety--that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said, It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? First Secretary Here, so please you. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready? First Secretary Ay, please your grace. CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood. NORFOLK What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks Matter against me; and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object: at this instant He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king; I'll follow and outstare him. NORFOLK Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim There's difference in no persons. NORFOLK Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. BUCKINGHAM Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not but From sincere motions, by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. NORFOLK Say not 'treasonous.' BUCKINGHAM To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't; his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-- Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. NORFOLK Faith, and so it did. BUCKINGHAM Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o' the combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,-- Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt-- For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview betwixt England and France might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,-- Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made, And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. NORFOLK I am sorry To hear this of him; and could wish he were Something mistaken in't. BUCKINGHAM No, not a syllable: I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof. Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard BRANDON Your office, sergeant; execute it. Sergeant Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. BUCKINGHAM Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practise. BRANDON I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. BUCKINGHAM It will help me nothing To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things! I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well! BRANDON Nay, he must bear you company. The king To ABERGAVENNY Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. ABERGAVENNY As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd! BRANDON Here is a warrant from The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-- BUCKINGHAM So, so; These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope. BRANDON A monk o' the Chartreux. BUCKINGHAM O, Nicholas Hopkins? BRANDON He. BUCKINGHAM My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side KING HENRY VIII My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him QUEEN KATHARINE Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. KING HENRY VIII Arise, and take place by us: half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will and take it. QUEEN KATHARINE Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. KING HENRY VIII Lady mine, proceed. QUEEN KATHARINE I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been commissions Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions, yet the king our master-- Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. NORFOLK Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among then! KING HENRY VIII Taxation! Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? CARDINAL WOLSEY Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me. QUEEN KATHARINE No, my lord, You know no more than others; but you frame Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. KING HENRY VIII Still exaction! The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? QUEEN KATHARINE I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths: Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. KING HENRY VIII By my life, This is against our pleasure. CARDINAL WOLSEY And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State-statues only. KING HENRY VIII Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is question'd send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission: pray, look to't; I put it to your care. CARDINAL WOLSEY A word with you. To the Secretary Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. Exit Secretary Enter Surveyor QUEEN KATHARINE I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. KING HENRY VIII It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-- This was his gentleman in trust--of him Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. KING HENRY VIII Speak freely. Surveyor First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, that if the king Should without issue die, he'll carry it so To make the sceptre his: these very words I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced Revenge upon the cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. QUEEN KATHARINE My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. KING HENRY VIII Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surveyor He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. KING HENRY VIII What was that Hopkins? Surveyor Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor, who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. KING HENRY VIII How know'st thou this? Surveyor Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he, 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs, Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke Shall govern England.' QUEEN KATHARINE If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. KING HENRY VIII Let him on. Go forward. Surveyor On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forged him some design, which, being believed, It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, It can do me no damage;' adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. KING HENRY VIII Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further? Surveyor I can, my liege. KING HENRY VIII Proceed. Surveyor Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reproved the duke About Sir William Blomer,-- KING HENRY VIII I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surveyor 'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife to him.' KING HENRY VIII A giant traitor! CARDINAL WOLSEY Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, and this man out of prison? QUEEN KATHARINE God mend all! KING HENRY VIII There's something more would out of thee; what say'st? Surveyor After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,' He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo His father by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. KING HENRY VIII There's his period, To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none, Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, He's traitor to the height. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain and SANDS Chamberlain Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? SANDS New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Chamberlain As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage is but merely A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. SANDS They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it, That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. Chamberlain Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter LOVELL How now! What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? LOVELL Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Chamberlain What is't for? LOVELL The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Chamberlain I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. LOVELL They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those remnants Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable point of ignorance Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. SANDS 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Chamberlain What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! LOVELL Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. SANDS The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, Held current music too. Chamberlain Well said, Lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. SANDS No, my lord; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Chamberlain Sir Thomas, Whither were you a-going? LOVELL To the cardinal's: Your lordship is a guest too. Chamberlain O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. LOVELL That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Chamberlain No doubt he's noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. SANDS He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal; They are set here for examples. Chamberlain True, they are so: But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else; which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford This night to be comptrollers. SANDS I am your lordship's. Exeunt SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD GUILDFORD Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates To fair content and you: none here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Chamberlain You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. SANDS Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. LOVELL O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these! SANDS I would I were; They should find easy penance. LOVELL Faith, how easy? SANDS As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Chamberlain Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze; Two women placed together makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies. SANDS By my faith, And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies: If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. ANNE Was he mad, sir? SANDS O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Kisses her Chamberlain Well said, my lord. So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. SANDS For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state CARDINAL WOLSEY You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome; And to you all, good health. Drinks SANDS Your grace is noble: Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. CARDINAL WOLSEY My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this? SANDS The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em Talk us to silence. ANNE You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sands. SANDS Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,-- ANNE You cannot show me. SANDS I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged CARDINAL WOLSEY What's that? Chamberlain Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant CARDINAL WOLSEY What warlike voice, And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant Chamberlain How now! what is't? Servant A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. CARDINAL WOLSEY Good lord chamberlain, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and once more I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him A noble company! what are their pleasures? Chamberlain Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with 'em. CARDINAL WOLSEY Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE KING HENRY VIII The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance CARDINAL WOLSEY My lord! Chamberlain Your grace? CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Chamberlain I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers CARDINAL WOLSEY What say they? Chamberlain Such a one, they all confess, There is indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. CARDINAL WOLSEY Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make My royal choice. KING HENRY VIII Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. CARDINAL WOLSEY I am glad Your grace is grown so pleasant. KING HENRY VIII My lord chamberlain, Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? Chamberlain An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter-- The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women. KING HENRY VIII By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber? LOVELL Yes, my lord. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. KING HENRY VIII I fear, too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. KING HENRY VIII Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. Exeunt with trumpets ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting First Gentleman Whither away so fast? Second Gentleman O, God save ye! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. First Gentleman I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. Second Gentleman Were you there? First Gentleman Yes, indeed, was I. Second Gentleman Pray, speak what has happen'd. First Gentleman You may guess quickly what. Second Gentleman Is he found guilty? First Gentleman Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. Second Gentleman I am sorry for't. First Gentleman So are a number more. Second Gentleman But, pray, how pass'd it? First Gentleman I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty and alleged Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney on the contrary Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired To have brought viva voce to his face: At which appear'd against him his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. Second Gentleman That was he That fed him with his prophecies? First Gentleman The same. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all Was either pitied in him or forgotten. Second Gentleman After all this, how did he bear himself? First Gentleman When he was brought again to the bar, to hear His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and sweetly In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. Second Gentleman I do not think he fears death. First Gentleman Sure, he does not: He never was so womanish; the cause He may a little grieve at. Second Gentleman Certainly The cardinal is the end of this. First Gentleman 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. Second Gentleman That trick of state Was a deep envious one. First Gentleman At his return No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, And generally, whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. Second Gentleman All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, The mirror of all courtesy;-- First Gentleman Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people Second Gentleman Let's stand close, and behold him. BUCKINGHAM All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death; 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em: Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. LOVELL I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. BUCKINGHAM Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no black envy Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be! And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! LOVELL To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. VAUX Prepare there, The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. BUCKINGHAM Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first raised head against usurping Richard, Flying for succor to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all That made me happy at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me, A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train First Gentleman O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their beads That were the authors. Second Gentleman If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. First Gentleman Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? Second Gentleman This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. First Gentleman Let me have it; I do not talk much. Second Gentleman I am confident, You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the king and Katharine? First Gentleman Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor straight To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. Second Gentleman But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: to confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; As all think, for this business. First Gentleman 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. Second Gentleman I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. First Gentleman 'Tis woful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter Chamberlain 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: He will have all, I think. Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK Well met, my lord chamberlain. Chamberlain Good day to both your graces. SUFFOLK How is the king employ'd? Chamberlain I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK What's the cause? Chamberlain It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. SUFFOLK Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else. NORFOLK How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage: And out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? Chamberlain Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare Look into these affairs see this main end, The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. SUFFOLK And free us from his slavery. NORFOLK We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. SUFFOLK For me, my lords, I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud, the pope. NORFOLK Let's in; And with some other business put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My lord, you'll bear us company? Chamberlain Excuse me; The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships. NORFOLK Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, ha? NORFOLK Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? NORFOLK A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way Is business of estate; in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING HENRY VIII Ye are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king. To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us and it. To CARDINAL WOLSEY My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING HENRY VIII [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him? SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of: I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; Whom once more I present unto your highness. KING HENRY VIII And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves: They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING HENRY VIII Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? CARDINAL WOLSEY I know your majesty has always loved her So dear in heart, not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law: Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING HENRY VIII Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary: I find him a fit fellow. Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. GARDINER [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. KING HENRY VIII Come hither, Gardiner. Walks and whispers CARDINAL CAMPEIUS My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, he was. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Was he not held a learned man? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, surely. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY How! of me? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him, That he ran mad and died. CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment: I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING HENRY VIII Deliver this with modesty to the queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, Would it not grieve an able man to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. Enter ANNE and an Old Lady ANNE Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: His highness having lived so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old Lady Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. ANNE O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old Lady Our content Is our best having. ANNE By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old Lady Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy: You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. ANNE Nay, good troth. Old Lady Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? ANNE No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? ANNE No, in truth. Old Lady Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. ANNE How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old Lady In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter Chamberlain Chamberlain Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Chamberlain It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well. ANNE Now, I pray God, amen! Chamberlain You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. ANNE I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender; More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. Chamberlain Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The king hath of you. Aside I have perused her well; Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king: and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, And say I spoke with you. Exit Chamberlain ANNE My honour'd lord. Old Lady Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up Before you open it. ANNE This is strange to me. Old Lady How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? ANNE Come, you are pleasant. Old Lady With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! No other obligation! By my life, That promises moe thousands: honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess: say, Are you not stronger than you were? ANNE Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: pray, do not deliver What here you've heard to her. Old Lady What do you think me? Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage CARDINAL WOLSEY Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING HENRY VIII What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may, then, spare that time. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be't so. Proceed. Scribe Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier Henry King of England, & c. KING HENRY VIII Here. Scribe Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. Crier Katharine Queen of England, & c. QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable; Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry As I saw it inclined: when was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: if, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many A year before: it is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! CARDINAL WOLSEY You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS His grace Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produced and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE Lord cardinal, To you I speak. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induced by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me; Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. CARDINAL WOLSEY I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you or any: how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual: that again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judged by him. She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart CARDINAL CAMPEIUS The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. She's going away. KING HENRY VIII Call her again. Crier Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GRIFFITH Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants KING HENRY VIII Go thy ways, Kate: That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. CARDINAL WOLSEY Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloosed, although not there At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING HENRY VIII My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You're excused: But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it: on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't: My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business, Ere a determinate resolution, he, I mean the bishop, did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advertise Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forced such way, That many mazed considerings did throng And press'd in with this caution. First, methought I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If it conceived a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't than The grave does to the dead; for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together: that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,--which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,-- By all the reverend fathers of the land And doctors learn'd: first I began in private With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek, When I first moved you. LINCOLN Very well, my liege. KING HENRY VIII I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread, that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course Which you are running here. KING HENRY VIII I then moved you, My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons: unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on: For no dislike i' the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' the world. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. KING HENRY VIII [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. Exeunt in manner as they entered ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments. Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman QUEEN KATHARINE How now! Gentleman An't please your grace, the two great cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE Would they speak with me? Gentleman They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE Pray their graces To come near. Exit Gentleman What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS CARDINAL WOLSEY Peace to your highness! QUEEN KATHARINE Your graces find me here part of a housewife, I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? CARDINAL WOLSEY May it please you noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE Speak it here: There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner: would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not, so much I am happy Above a number, if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. CARDINAL WOLSEY Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-- QUEEN KATHARINE O, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English. CARDINAL WOLSEY Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. We come not by the way of accusation, To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, Forgetting, like a good man your late censure Both of his truth and him, which was too far, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE [Aside] To betray me.-- My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so! But how to make ye suddenly an answer, In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,-- More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking Either for such men or such business. For her sake that I have been,--for I feel The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces, Let me have time and counsel for my cause: Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE In England But little for my profit: can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here: They are, as all my other comforts, far hence In mine own country, lords. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS I would your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE How, sir? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Put your main cause into the king's protection; He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better and your cause; For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, You'll part away disgraced. CARDINAL WOLSEY He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries; I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye And all such false professors! would you have me-- If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? loved him next heaven? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. CARDINAL WOLSEY If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. QUEEN KATHARINE Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly; You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment. Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain NORFOLK If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: if you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, With these you bear already. SURREY I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be revenged on him. SUFFOLK Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person Out of himself? Chamberlain My lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me I know; What we can do to him, though now the time Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in's tongue. NORFOLK O, fear him not; His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. SURREY Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. NORFOLK Believe it, this is true: In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy. SURREY How came His practises to light? SUFFOLK Most strangely. SURREY O, how, how? SUFFOLK The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' SURREY Has the king this? SUFFOLK Believe it. SURREY Will this work? Chamberlain The king in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death: the king already Hath married the fair lady. SURREY Would he had! SUFFOLK May you be happy in your wish, my lord For, I profess, you have it. SURREY Now, all my joy Trace the conjunction! SUFFOLK My amen to't! NORFOLK All men's! SUFFOLK There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memorised. SURREY But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! NORFOLK Marry, amen! SUFFOLK No, no; There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried Ha! at this. Chamberlain Now, God incense him, And let him cry Ha! louder! NORFOLK But, my lord, When returns Cranmer? SUFFOLK He is return'd in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager And widow to Prince Arthur. NORFOLK This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business. SUFFOLK He has; and we shall see him For it an archbishop. NORFOLK So I hear. SUFFOLK 'Tis so. The cardinal! Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL NORFOLK Observe, observe, he's moody. CARDINAL WOLSEY The packet, Cromwell. Gave't you the king? CROMWELL To his own hand, in's bedchamber. CARDINAL WOLSEY Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? CROMWELL Presently He did unseal them: and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this morning. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he ready To come abroad? CROMWELL I think, by this he is. CARDINAL WOLSEY Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL Aside It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! NORFOLK He's discontented. SUFFOLK May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. SURREY Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice! CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. NORFOLK He is vex'd at something. SURREY I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord on's heart! Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL SUFFOLK The king, the king! KING HENRY VIII What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together! Now, my lords, Saw you the cardinal? NORFOLK My lord, we have Stood here observing him: some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple, straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. KING HENRY VIII It may well be; There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I required: and wot you what I found There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. NORFOLK It's heaven's will: Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. KING HENRY VIII If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven forgive me! Ever God bless your highness! KING HENRY VIII Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind; the which You were now running o'er: you have scarce time To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that I deem you an ill husband, and am glad To have you therein my companion. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business which I bear i' the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendence to. KING HENRY VIII You have said well. CARDINAL WOLSEY And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! KING HENRY VIII 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you: His said he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But pared my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] What should this mean? SURREY [Aside] The Lord increase this business! KING HENRY VIII Have I not made you, The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us or no. What say you? CARDINAL WOLSEY My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends Have been mine so that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. The Life and Death of King John Shakespeare homepage | King John | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. KING JOHN'S palace. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France In my behavior to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty, of England here. QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!' KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island and the territories, To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Which sways usurpingly these several titles, And put these same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this? CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The farthest limit of my embassy. KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath And sullen presage of your own decay. An honourable conduct let him have: Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said How that ambitious Constance would not cease Till she had kindled France and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented and made whole With very easy arguments of love, Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us. QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right, Or else it must go wrong with you and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. Enter a Sheriff ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy Come from country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? KING JOHN Let them approach. Our abbeys and our priories shall pay This expedition's charge. Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD What men are you? BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. KING JOHN What art thou? ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? You came not of one mother then, it seems. BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king; That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But for the certain knowledge of that truth I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother And wound her honour with this diffidence. BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea and none of mine; The which if he can prove, a' pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whether I be as true begot or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head, But that I am as well begot, my liege,-- Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-- Compare our faces and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both And were our father and this son like him, O old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father. With half that face would he have all my land: A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived, Your brother did employ my father much,-- BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there with the emperor To treat of high affairs touching that time. The advantage of his absence took the king And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, As I have heard my father speak himself, When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and took it on his death That this my mother's son was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, And if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf bred from his cow from all the world; In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force To dispossess that child which is not his? BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence and no land beside? BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Would I might never stir from off this place, I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case. QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? I am a soldier and now bound to France. BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither. BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way. KING JOHN What is thy name? BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, yours gave land. Now blessed by the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away! QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet! I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so. BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And I am I, howe'er I was begot. KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire; A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed For France, for France, for it is more than need. BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. Exeunt all but BASTARD A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'-- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective and too sociable For your conversion. Now your traveller, He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 'I shall beseech you'--that is question now; And then comes answer like an Absey book: 'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir;' 'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' And so, ere answer knows what question would, Saving in dialogue of compliment, And talking of the Alps and Apennines, The Pyrenean and the river Po, It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society And fits the mounting spirit like myself, For he is but a bastard to the time That doth not smack of observation; And so am I, whether I smack or no; And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement, But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady! What brings you here to court so hastily? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chase mine honour up and down? BASTARD My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. BASTARD James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? GURNEY Good leave, good Philip. BASTARD Philip! sparrow: James, There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more. Exit GURNEY Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? BASTARD Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; Legitimation, name and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? BASTARD As faithfully as I deny the devil. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father: By long and vehement suit I was seduced To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urged past my defence. BASTARD Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He that perforce robs lions of their hearts May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. France. Before Angiers. Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side: on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS, ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants LEWIS Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. ARTHUR God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death The rather that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. LEWIS A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? AUSTRIA Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love, That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages: We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England bring, That right in peace which here we urge in war, And then we shall repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON KING PHILIP A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arrived! What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. CHATILLON Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I; His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king's deceased, And all the unsettled humours of the land, Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make hazard of new fortunes here: In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did nearer float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. Drum beats The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. KING PHILIP How much unlook'd for is this expedition! AUSTRIA By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them be welcome then: we are prepared. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, Lords, and forces KING JOHN Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own; If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven. KING PHILIP Peace be to England, if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace. England we love; and for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king Cut off the sequence of posterity, Out-faced infant state and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? KING JOHN From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? KING PHILIP From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right: That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong And by whose help I mean to chastise it. KING JOHN Alack, thou dost usurp authority. KING PHILIP Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. QUEEN ELINOR Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? CONSTANCE Let me make answer; thy usurping son. QUEEN ELINOR Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world! CONSTANCE My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners; being as like As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. QUEEN ELINOR There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. CONSTANCE There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. AUSTRIA Peace! BASTARD Hear the crier. AUSTRIA What the devil art thou? BASTARD One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a' may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. BLANCH O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! BASTARD It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. AUSTRIA What craker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? KING PHILIP Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. LEWIS Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all; England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? KING JOHN My life as soon: I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. QUEEN ELINOR Come to thy grandam, child. CONSTANCE Do, child, go to it grandam, child: Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. ARTHUR Good my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that's made for me. QUEEN ELINOR His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. CONSTANCE Now shame upon you, whether she does or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed To do him justice and revenge on you. QUEEN ELINOR Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! CONSTANCE Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp The dominations, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. KING JOHN Bedlam, have done. CONSTANCE I have but this to say, That he is not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plague for her And with her plague; her sin his injury, Her injury the beadle to her sin, All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; a plague upon her! QUEEN ELINOR Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. CONSTANCE Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will: A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! KING PHILIP Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions. Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls First Citizen Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? KING PHILIP 'Tis France, for England. KING JOHN England, for itself. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-- KING PHILIP You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-- KING JOHN For our advantage; therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege All merciless proceeding by these French Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; And but for our approach those sleeping stones, That as a waist doth girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the sight of us your lawful king, Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a countercheque before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle; And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. KING PHILIP When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you Than the constraint of hospitable zeal In the relief of this oppressed child Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty which you truly owe To that owes it, namely this young prince: And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, We will bear home that lusty blood again Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls Can hide you from our messengers of war, Though all these English and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage And stalk in blood to our possession? First Citizen In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. First Citizen That can we not; but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal: till that time Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. KING JOHN Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- BASTARD Bastards, and else. KING JOHN To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- BASTARD Some bastards too. KING PHILIP Stand in his face to contradict his claim. First Citizen Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! KING PHILIP Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! BASTARD Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! To AUSTRIA Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA Peace! no more. BASTARD O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD Speed then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, with trumpets, to the gates French Herald You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet English Herald Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. First Citizen Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their powers, severally KING JOHN France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. KING PHILIP England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. BASTARD Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! KING JOHN Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? KING PHILIP Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? First Citizen The king of England; when we know the king. KING PHILIP Know him in us, that here hold up his right. KING JOHN In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. First Citizen A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. BASTARD By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'ld play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? KING JOHN Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers And lay this Angiers even to the ground; Then after fight who shall be king of it? BASTARD An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wronged as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other and pell-mell Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. KING PHILIP Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? KING JOHN We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. AUSTRIA I from the north. KING PHILIP Our thunder from the south Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. BASTARD O prudent discipline! From north to south: Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away! First Citizen Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. KING JOHN Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. First Citizen That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, Is niece to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete of, say he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. O, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in; And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can To our fast-closed gates; for at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance: but without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion, no, not Death himself In moral fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. BASTARD Here's a stay That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas, Talks as familiarly of roaring lions As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue: Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his But buffets better than a fist of France: Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. QUEEN ELINOR Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition, Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. First Citizen Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? KING PHILIP Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: what say you? KING JOHN If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, Except this city now by us besieged, Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich In titles, honours and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. KING PHILIP What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. LEWIS I do, my lord; and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye: Which being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow: I do protest I never loved myself Till now infixed I beheld myself Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. Whispers with BLANCH BASTARD Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be In such a love so vile a lout as he. BLANCH My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or if you will, to speak more properly, I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this; that nothing do I see in you, Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge, That I can find should merit any hate. KING JOHN What say these young ones? What say you my niece? BLANCH That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. KING JOHN Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? LEWIS Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly. KING JOHN Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. KING PHILIP It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. AUSTRIA And your lips too; for I am well assured That I did so when I was first assured. KING PHILIP Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel presently The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? I know she is not, for this match made up Her presence would have interrupted much: Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. LEWIS She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. KING PHILIP And, by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. KING JOHN We will heal up all; For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity: I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. Exeunt all but the BASTARD BASTARD Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, Who, having no external thing to lose But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world, The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, From a resolved and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And why rail I on this Commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm; But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit The Life and Death of Richard the Second Shakespeare homepage | Richard II | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. Exeunt SCENE IV. The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter BUSHY Bushy, what news? BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All Amen. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c JOHN OF GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY DUKE OF YORK The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. Exit, borne off by his Attendants KING RICHARD II And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND NORTHUMBERLAND My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit KING RICHARD II Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT NORTHUMBERLAND Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT BUSHY Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter GREEN GREEN God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY Despair not, madam. QUEEN Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter DUKE OF YORK GREEN Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK What is't, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Exit Servant Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. The Life and Death of Richard the Third Shakespeare homepage | Richard III | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER Upon what cause? CLARENCE Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER What news abroad? HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS He is. GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit HASTINGS He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER I grant ye. LADY ANNE Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE I hope so. GLOUCESTER I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE Name him. GLOUCESTER Plantagenet. LADY ANNE Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE Where is he? GLOUCESTER Here. She spitteth at him Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY RIVERS Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY GREY Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET GLOUCESTER They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET Richard! GLOUCESTER Ha! QUEEN MARGARET I call thee not. GLOUCESTER I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit HASTINGS My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER So do I ever: Aside being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Enter CATESBY CATESBY Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY BRAKENBURY Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! CLARENCE sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers First Murderer Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY reads it BRAKENBURY I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY Second Murderer What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer So I am, to let him live. First Murderer Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer A man, as you are. CLARENCE But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both To, to, to-- CLARENCE To murder me? Both Ay, ay. CLARENCE You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Ay, so we will. CLARENCE Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer What shall we do? CLARENCE Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer Take that, and that: if all this will not do, Stabs him I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body Second Murderer A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter First Murderer First Murderer How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. Exit First Murderer So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. ACT II SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others KING EDWARD IV Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS And so swear I, my lord They embrace KING EDWARD IV Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, To the Queen but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter DERBY DORSET A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET GLOUCESTER This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM We wait upon your grace. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE Boy Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK No, boy. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK Ay, boy. Boy I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF GLOUCESTER Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS And so say I. GLOUCESTER Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH DUCHESS OF YORK With all our harts. Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER BUCKINGHAM My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt SCENE III. London. A street. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen Third Citizen Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. The Tragedy of Coriolanus Shakespeare homepage | Coriolanus | Entire play 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 Marcius 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 particularise 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 Marcius? All 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 fort, 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 till 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' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All Come, come. First Citizen Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA 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 the 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' the 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 store-houses 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 Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the 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 answer'd-- 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 the 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 In 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 restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen Ye're long about it. MENENIUS Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: '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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st 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 MARCIUS Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd 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? MARCIUS They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd 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 answer'd, 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' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS What is granted them? MARCIUS 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 unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS This is strange. MARCIUS Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger, hastily Messenger Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS Here: what's the matter? Messenger The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS First Senator Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS You have fought together. MARCIUS Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS It is your former promise. MARCIUS 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 No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS O, true-bred! First Senator Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. To MARCIUS Right worthy you priority. COMINIUS Noble Marcius! First Senator [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone! MARCIUS Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS He has no equal. SICINIUS When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS Be-mock 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, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius 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 his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS Lets along. Exeunt SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate-house. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators 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 press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius 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 veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd 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 Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring 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 Marcius 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. A room in Marcius' house. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA 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 the 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 Marcius, 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 the 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 mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd 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, look'd 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 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 house-keepers. 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 school-master. 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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife 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 Corioli; 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 every thing 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 Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a Messenger MARCIUS Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS 'Tis done. LARTIUS Agreed. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS How far off lie these armies? Messenger Within this mile and half. MARCIUS 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 Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Drums 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 pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS O, they are at it! LARTIUS Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces MARCIUS 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. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing MARCIUS 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 abhorr'd Further 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 followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates 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. Enters the gates First Soldier Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier Nor I. MARCIUS is shut in First Soldier See, they have shut him in. All To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS LARTIUS What is become of Marcius? All Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd 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, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: 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 thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy First Soldier Look, sir. LARTIUS O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city SCENE V. Corioli. 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. Alarum continues still afar off Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! 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! 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. MARCIUS Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd 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! MARCIUS Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the 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. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger Thy news? Messenger The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS Though thou speak'st 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. COMINIUS Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS [Within] Come I too late? COMINIUS The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. Enter MARCIUS MARCIUS Come I too late? COMINIUS Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli 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 is he? call him hither. MARCIUS Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the 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. MARCIUS 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 smear'd; 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 Marcius. 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 obey'd. Please you to march; And four 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 Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with 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 the Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt SCENE VIII. A field of battle. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the 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 camest 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-- MARCIUS 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 vouch'd, 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. MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. 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. MARCIUS 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 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd 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 Marcius 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 Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums All Caius Marcius 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 the 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 Corioli 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 Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was with in my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS Marcius, 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 look'd to: come. 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! First Soldier 'Twill be deliver'd 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. First Soldier He's the devil. AUFIDIUS Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering 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 Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier Will not you go? AUFIDIUS I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier I shall, sir. Exeunt 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 to-night. BRUTUS Good or bad? MENENIUS Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS The lamb. MENENIUS Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Well, sir. MENENIUS In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the right-hand file? do you? Both Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS 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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA VIRGILIA Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow. MENENIUS True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body. MENENIUS One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald Herald Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! Kneels VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, 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 laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli 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 ye'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. 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, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily 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 temperately 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 I 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' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the 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 the 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 he 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 Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: 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 the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS Have with you. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions First Officer Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one 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 had 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 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, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. 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. To the Tribunes Masters o' the 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 offers to go away Nay, keep your place. First Senator Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS Sir, I hope My words disbench'd 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' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. 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 utter'd 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: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli 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 Re-quicken'd 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 call'd 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 kick'd at, And look'd 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 call'd for. First Senator Call Coriolanus. Officer He doth appear. Re-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 apart 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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. 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' the 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 block-head, 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 behavior. 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 every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All Content, content. Exeunt Citizens 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 roar'd and ran From the 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 CORIOLANUS Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. Re-enter two of the Citizens So, here comes a brace. Re-enter a third Citizen You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens Re-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 further. Both Citizens The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do. Re-enter three Citizens more Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd 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 Citizens Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Worthy voices! Re-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 the 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 summon'd 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 the 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 methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens 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 mock'd us when he begg'd 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 show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens 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 lesson'd, 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' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd 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 confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The 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' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] 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 the Capitol. All We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens 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 the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the 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 safe-guard 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 call'd 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' the 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 pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS Have I had children's voices? First Senator Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. 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 mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS Why, this was known before. BRUTUS Not to them all. CORIOLANUS Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS 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 paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd 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 tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS You speak o' the 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 here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the 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 learn'd, 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 frown 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 the other. COMINIUS Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the 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 nourish'd 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 That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson 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' the 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 barr'd, 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 the in 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 the 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' the dust. BRUTUS Manifest treason! SICINIUS This a consul? no. BRUTUS The aediles, ho! Enter an AEdile Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS Go, call the people: Exit AEdile in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS Hence, old goat! Senators, & C We'll surety him. COMINIUS Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS Help, ye citizens! Enter a rabble of Citizens (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! Citizens Down with him! down with him! Senators, & C Weapons, weapons, weapons! They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' '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 the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS Hear me, people; peace! Citizens Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 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? Citizens True, The people are the city. BRUTUS By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens 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' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS AEdiles, seize him! Citizens Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile Peace, peace! MENENIUS [To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately 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 No, I'll die here. Drawing his sword 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. COMINIUS Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens 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; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator Get you gone. COMINIUS Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS Sham 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: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd 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, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS Nay, come away. Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others A Patrician This man has marr'd 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! Second Patrician I would they were abed! MENENIUS I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble 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 nought. First Citizen He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens 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! Citizens 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 to-night. MENENIUS Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 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 dropp'd 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 the end o' the world. SICINIUS This is clean kam. BRUTUS Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 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 market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS I'll bring him to you. To the 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. A room in CORIOLANUS'S house. Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians CORIOLANUS Let them puff 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. A 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 show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS Let them hang. A Patrician Ay, and burn too. Enter MENENIUS and 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 counsell'd: 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o' the 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 the 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 unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 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 ask'd, 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. Here is Cominius. Enter COMINIUS COMINIUS I have been i' the market-place; 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 base tongue give 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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the 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 turn'd, Which quired 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 arm'd knees, Who bow'd 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 market-place; 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' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA Do your will. Exit 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. The same. 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 favour'd him. SICINIUS Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS Well, here he comes. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS, with Senators and Patricians MENENIUS Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd 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. Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens 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' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS Scratches with briers, 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 pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd 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 season'd 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' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd 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? Citizens To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, 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 banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the 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 not 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, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians AEdile The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! Shouting, and throwing 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. Citizens 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 extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd 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 conn'd them. VIRGILIA O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening 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 fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. 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' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS 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' the 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'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS Give me thy hand: Come. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street near the gate. Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile SICINIUS Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, 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. 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. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS VOLUMNIA O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the 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 BRUTUS Will you be gone? VIRGILIA [To SICINIUS] 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'ld 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 us 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 banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA Take my prayers with you. Exeunt Tribunes 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. MENENIUS Fie, fie, fie! Exeunt SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting 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 the 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 seem to wear one heart, Whose house, 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 birth-place 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. The same. A hall in Aufidius's house. Music within. Enter a Servingman First Servingman Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit Enter a second 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. Re-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. Re-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 thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him Third Servingman What fellow's this? First Servingman A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Retires 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 marvellous 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 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 dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS Under the canopy. Third Servingman Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS Ay. Third Servingman Where's that? CORIOLANUS I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Retires AUFIDIUS Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS If, Tullus, Unmuffling Not yet thou knowest 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 hast 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 Marcius, 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 devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd 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 fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest 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 follow'd 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 Marcius, Marcius! 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'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd 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 Sigh'd 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 fort: 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 Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the 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 The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two 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' the world. First Servingman I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. 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. Re-enter third Servingman Third Servingman O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman Second Servingman What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman Second Servingman Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 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 Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman But when goes this forward? Third Servingman To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a 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 spritely, waking, 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 SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with 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. Both Tribunes Hail sir! MENENIUS Hail to you both! SICINIUS Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, 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 Citizens The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was A worthy officer i' the 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 enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS Go see this rumourer whipp'd. 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 have 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 come 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 deliver'd. SICINIUS What more fearful? Messenger It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd 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 Marcius home again. SICINIUS The very trick on't. MENENIUS This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Enter a second Messenger Second Messenger You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd 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 Marcius should be join'd 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 up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS He will 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd 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 So incapable of help. Both 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' the 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 come 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. 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 Ye re 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 dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 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 us go. Exeunt SCENE VII. A camp, at a small distance from Rome. Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd 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 Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 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 the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To 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, and 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 call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd 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: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for 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 punish'd. MENENIUS Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS I offer'd 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 the 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 Marcius. MENENIUS Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 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 unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like 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 gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 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. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. Enter to them, MENENIUS First Senator Stay: whence are you? Second Senator 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 Senator From whence? MENENIUS From Rome. First Senator You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator 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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply 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 stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator 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 Senator 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, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS I am, as thy general is. First Senator 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 Senator Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS I mean, thy general. First Senator 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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone. 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 Gives a letter And would have rent 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. Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS First Senator Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye'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 Senator A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others CORIOLANUS We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd 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 a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd 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. Ha! what shout is this? Shout within Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 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 curt'sy 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.' 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 virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Kneels Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest! 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. Kneels CORIOLANUS What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 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 the 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' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld 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 To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; 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 nought 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS A' 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. Rising 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 show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 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 dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd 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; 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 bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 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 prevail'd, 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! 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. The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS CORIOLANUS Ay, by and by; To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, & c But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 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 corner-stone? 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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger SICINIUS What's the news? Second Messenger Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours 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 pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! Music still, with 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? Second Messenger Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS We will meet them, And help the joy. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate. Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, & c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others First 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 banish'd Marcius, 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' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; 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 enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Exeunt Attendants Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction Most welcome! First Conspirator How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd 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 banish'd 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd 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 enter'd 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 The 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? 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. AUFIDIUS He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him CORIOLANUS Hail, lords! I am return'd 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 Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS Marcius! AUFIDIUS Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd 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' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering 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 impress'd 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 dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 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 The People 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd 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' the 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! The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body 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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd 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 CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded The Life and Death of Julies Caesar Shakespeare homepage | Julius Caeser | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all the Commoners See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR Calpurnia! CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. CAESAR Calpurnia! CALPURNIA Here, my lord. CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. Antonius! ANTONY Caesar, my lord? CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Flourish Soothsayer Caesar! CAESAR Ha! who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face. CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I. CASSIUS I pray you, do. BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-- Among which number, Cassius, be you one-- Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. BRUTUS The games are done and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Re-enter CAESAR and his Train BRUTUS I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR Antonius! ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA CASCA You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day, That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting. BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too. CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too. BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony. BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound? CASCA He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. BRUTUS 'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness. CASSIUS No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS And after that, he came, thus sad, away? CASCA Ay. CASSIUS Did Cicero say any thing? CASCA Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS To what effect? CASCA Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the face again: but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. CASSIUS Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? CASCA No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS Will you dine with me to-morrow? CASCA Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS Good: I will expect you. CASCA Do so. Farewell, both. Exit BRUTUS What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you. CASSIUS I will do so: till then, think of the world. Exit BRUTUS Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus: If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit SCENE III. The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO CICERO Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? CASCA Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? CASCA A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 'These are their reasons; they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? CASCA He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. CICERO Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA Farewell, Cicero. Exit CICERO Enter CASSIUS CASSIUS Who's there? CASCA A Roman. CASSIUS Casca, by your voice. CASCA Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still CASCA So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. CASCA Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Enter CINNA Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS Am I not stay'd for? tell me. CINNA Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party-- CASSIUS Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit CINNA Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. BRUTUS's orchard. Enter BRUTUS BRUTUS What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS I will, my lord. Exit BRUTUS It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round. He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter BRUTUS Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS I know not, sir. BRUTUS Look in the calendar, and bring me word. LUCIUS I will, sir. Exit BRUTUS The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads 'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. 'Shall Rome, & c.' Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. Knocking within BRUTUS 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Exit LUCIUS Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS Is he alone? LUCIUS No, sir, there are moe with him. BRUTUS Do you know them? LUCIUS No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour. BRUTUS Let 'em enter. Exit LUCIUS They are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS CASSIUS I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? BRUTUS I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS He is welcome hither. CASSIUS This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS He is welcome too. CASSIUS This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS Shall I entreat a word? BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper DECIUS BRUTUS Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? CASCA No. CINNA O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,-- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA Let us not leave him out. CINNA No, by no means. METELLUS CIMBER O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS O, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. CASSIUS Then leave him out. CASCA Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS BRUTUS Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar-- BRUTUS Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company. TREBONIUS There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes BRUTUS Peace! count the clock. CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS Never fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? CINNA Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS CIMBER Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS Now, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but BRUTUS Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter PORTIA PORTIA Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart PORTIA If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Exit PORTIA Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS LUCIUS He is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? LIGARIUS Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. BRUTUS Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS Follow me, then. Exeunt SCENE II. CAESAR's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown CAESAR Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? Enter a Servant Servant My lord? CAESAR Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. Servant I will, my lord. Exit Enter CALPURNIA CALPURNIA What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. CAESAR Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he: We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible: And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house: And he shall say you are not well to-day: Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter DECIUS BRUTUS Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS BRUTUS Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. CAESAR And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA Say he is sick. CAESAR Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS BRUTUS Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR The cause is in my will: I will not come; That is enough to satisfy the senate. But for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know: Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS BRUTUS I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now: the senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 'Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'? Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS Good morrow, Caesar. CAESAR Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is 't o'clock? BRUTUS Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter ANTONY See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR Bid them prepare within: I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day: Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS Caesar, I will: Aside and so near will I be, That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. BRUTUS [Aside] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper ARTEMIDORUS 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, 'ARTEMIDORUS.' Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS. Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS PORTIA I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS To know my errand, madam. PORTIA I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? LUCIUS I hear none, madam. PORTIA Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer PORTIA Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been? Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA What is't o'clock? Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit PORTIA I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally ACT III SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others CAESAR [To the Soothsayer] The ides of March are come. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. ARTEMIDORUS Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. DECIUS BRUTUS Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. CAESAR What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following POPILIUS I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. CASSIUS What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS Fare you well. Advances to CAESAR BRUTUS What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him. CASSIUS Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS DECIUS BRUTUS Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS He is address'd: press near and second him. CINNA Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress? METELLUS CIMBER Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart,-- Kneeling CAESAR I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS CIMBER Is there no voice more worthy than my own To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR What, Brutus! CASSIUS Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CASSIUS I could be well moved, if I were as you: If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine, But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA O Caesar,-- CAESAR Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS BRUTUS Great Caesar,-- CAESAR Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA Speak, hands for me! CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR CAESAR Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar. Dies CINNA Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' BRUTUS People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. CASCA Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS BRUTUS And Cassius too. BRUTUS Where's Publius? CINNA Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS CIMBER Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance-- BRUTUS Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. CASSIUS And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS Do so: and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers. Re-enter TREBONIUS CASSIUS Where is Antony? TREBONIUS Fled to his house amazed: Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. CASSIUS Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!' CASSIUS Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS BRUTUS What, shall we forth? CASSIUS Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant BRUTUS Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Servant Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel: Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Servant I'll fetch him presently. Exit BRUTUS I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS I wish we may: but yet have I a mind That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. BRUTUS But here comes Antony. Re-enter ANTONY Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome-- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, To see thy thy Anthony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS Mark Antony,-- ANTONY Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS Brutus, a word with you. Aside to BRUTUS You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY Be it so. I do desire no more. BRUTUS Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but ANTONY ANTONY O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth-- O Caesar!-- Seeing the body ANTONY Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with CAESAR's body SCENE II. The Forum. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens Citizens We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. BRUTUS Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. King Lear Shakespeare homepage | King Lear | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. KENT Is not this your son, my lord? GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. KENT I cannot conceive you. GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? EDMUND No, my lord. GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. EDMUND My services to your lordship. KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better. EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving. GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,-- Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,-- Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. REGAN Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA Nothing, my lord. KING LEAR Nothing! CORDELIA Nothing. KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA Ay, good my lord. KING LEAR So young, and so untender? CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true. KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT Good my liege,-- KING LEAR Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown KENT Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,-- KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. KING LEAR Out of my sight! KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,-- KENT Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. KENT Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil. KING LEAR Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? BURGUNDY Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY I know no answer. KING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. KING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. KING LEAR Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. KING OF FRANCE Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. KING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. KING OF FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. KING LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA KING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. REGAN Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! KING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA GONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. REGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment. GONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let's hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN We shall further think on't. GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat. Exeunt SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Enter EDMUND, with a letter EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power! Confined to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news? EDMUND So please your lordship, none. Putting up the letter GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading? EDMUND Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see. EDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.' Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in?--When came this to you? who brought it? EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's? EDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER It is his. EDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he? EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER Think you so? EDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster-- EDMUND Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit EDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar-- Enter EDGAR And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR Do you busy yourself about that? EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last? EDGAR Why, the night gone by. EDMUND Spake you with him? EDGAR Ay, two hours together. EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? EDGAR None at all. EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the spied of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR Armed, brother! EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you: I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away. EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND I do serve you in this business. Exit EDGAR A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty My practises ride easy! I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit SCENE III. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. OSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him. Horns within GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he dislike it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be used With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you. OSWALD Well, madam. GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in the same. Enter KENT, disguised KENT If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants KING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant How now! what art thou? KENT A man, sir. KING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us? KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. KING LEAR What art thou? KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. KING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT Service. KING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve? KENT You. KING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. KING LEAR What's that? KENT Authority. KING LEAR What services canst thou do? KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. KING LEAR How old art thou? KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight. KING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant Enter OSWALD You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? OSWALD So please you,-- Exit KING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight How now! where's that mongrel? Knight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. KING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him. Knight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. KING LEAR He would not! Knight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter. KING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so? Knight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged. KING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Knight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. KING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant Re-enter OSWALD O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady's father. KING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. KING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him OSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord. KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels KING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes OSWALD out KING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. Giving KENT money Enter Fool Fool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. Offering KENT his cap KING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou? Fool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT Why, fool? Fool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! KING LEAR Why, my boy? Fool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. KING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip. Fool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. KING LEAR A pestilent gall to me! Fool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. KING LEAR Do. Fool Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. KENT This is nothing, fool. Fool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? KING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. KING LEAR A bitter fool! Fool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? KING LEAR No, lad; teach me. Fool That lord that counsell'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. KING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. KING LEAR What two crowns shall they be? Fool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Singing Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. KING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Singing Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. KING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o' the parings. Enter GONERIL KING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. Fool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To GONERIL Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. Pointing to KING LEAR That's a shealed peascod. GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. KING LEAR Are you our daughter? GONERIL Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. KING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool Lear's shadow. KING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool Which they will make an obedient father. KING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman? GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy: be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you. KING LEAR Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY KING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,-- To ALBANY O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient. KING LEAR [To GONERIL] Detested kite! thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, Striking his head And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you. KING LEAR It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter KING LEAR KING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALBANY What's the matter, sir? KING LEAR I'll tell thee: To GONERIL Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord? ALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,-- GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit GONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! ALBANY Well, you may fear too far. GONERIL Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit OSWALD No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness. ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GONERIL Nay, then-- ALBANY Well, well; the event. Exeunt SCENE V. Court before the same. Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool KING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit Fool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes? KING LEAR Ay, boy. Fool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. KING LEAR Ha, ha, ha! Fool Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. KING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face? KING LEAR No. Fool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. KING LEAR I did her wrong-- Fool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? KING LEAR No. Fool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. KING LEAR Why? Fool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. KING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? Fool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. KING LEAR Because they are not eight? Fool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. KING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! Fool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. KING LEAR How's that? Fool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. KING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Enter Gentleman How now! are the horses ready? Gentleman Ready, my lord. KING LEAR Come, boy. Fool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. GLOUCESTER's castle. Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him EDMUND Save thee, Curan. CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND Not I pray you, what are they? CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND Not a word. CURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit EDMUND The duke be here to-night? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! Enter EDGAR My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night: Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR I am sure on't, not a word. EDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell. Exit EDGAR Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion. Wounds his arm Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain? EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,-- GLOUCESTER But where is he? EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-- GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after. Exeunt some Servants By no means what? EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,-- As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce My very character,--I'ld turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.' GLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain Would he deny his letter? I never got him. Tucket within Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have the due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants CORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! REGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord. CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else. GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,-- REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice: Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. Exeunt SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT Ay. OSWALD Where may we set our horses? KENT I' the mire. OSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. KENT I love thee not. OSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD What dost thou know me for? KENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage | Macbeth | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls. Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you? First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate. First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence? MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean? MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't. Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane? MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming. MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us. MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever? First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition. from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome. Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies. Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men. Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg! Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Othello, the Moore of Venice Shakespeare homepage | Othello | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer.' And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient. RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. RODERIGO I would not follow him then. IAGO O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus! IAGO Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window BRABANTIO What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? RODERIGO Signior, is all your family within? IAGO Are your doors lock'd? BRABANTIO Why, wherefore ask you this? IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? BRABANTIO Not I what are you? RODERIGO My name is Roderigo. BRABANTIO The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,-- BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. RODERIGO Patience, good sir. BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou? IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. BRABANTIO Thou art a villain. IAGO You are--a senator. BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-- If this be known to you and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper! call up all my people! This accident is not unlike my dream: Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! Exit above IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall-- Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some cheque, Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. Exit Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers: Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? RODERIGO Truly, I think they are. BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed. BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me. BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. Exeunt SCENE II. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is. IAGO Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. OTHELLO Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,-- Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond? IAGO Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in. OTHELLO Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? IAGO By Janus, I think no. Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches OTHELLO The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? CASSIO The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. OTHELLO What is the matter, think you? CASSIO Something from Cyprus as I may divine: It is a business of some heat: the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels, And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several guests To search you out. OTHELLO 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Exit CASSIO Ancient, what makes he here? IAGO 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack: If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. CASSIO I do not understand. IAGO He's married. CASSIO To who? Re-enter OTHELLO IAGO Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go? OTHELLO Have with you. CASSIO Here comes another troop to seek for you. IAGO It is Brabantio. General, be advised; He comes to bad intent. Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with torches and weapons OTHELLO Holla! stand there! RODERIGO Signior, it is the Moor. BRABANTIO Down with him, thief! They draw on both sides IAGO You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. OTHELLO Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. BRABANTIO O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunned The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on; 'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. OTHELLO Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? BRABANTIO To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. OTHELLO What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him? First Officer 'Tis true, most worthy signior; The duke's in council and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. BRABANTIO How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. Exeunt SCENE III. A council-chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending DUKE OF VENICE There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. First Senator Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. DUKE OF VENICE And mine, a hundred and forty. Second Senator And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account,-- As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! First Officer A messenger from the galleys. Enter a Sailor DUKE OF VENICE Now, what's the business? Sailor The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo. DUKE OF VENICE How say you by this change? First Senator This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand, That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. First Officer Here is more news. Enter a Messenger Messenger The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Senator Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Messenger Of thirty sail: and now they do restem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. DUKE OF VENICE 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Senator He's now in Florence. DUKE OF VENICE Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. First Senator Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers DUKE OF VENICE Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. To BRABANTIO I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. BRABANTIO So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows And it is still itself. DUKE OF VENICE Why, what's the matter? BRABANTIO My daughter! O, my daughter! DUKE OF VENICE Senator Dead? BRABANTIO Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. DUKE OF VENICE Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. BRABANTIO Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. DUKE OF VENICE Senator We are very sorry for't. DUKE OF VENICE [To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this? BRABANTIO Nothing, but this is so. OTHELLO Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charged withal, I won his daughter. BRABANTIO A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature, and must be driven To find out practises of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. DUKE OF VENICE To vouch this, is no proof, Without more wider and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. First Senator But, Othello, speak: Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? OTHELLO I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. DUKE OF VENICE Fetch Desdemona hither. OTHELLO Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place. Exeunt IAGO and Attendants And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. DUKE OF VENICE Say it, Othello. OTHELLO Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven It was my hint to speak,--such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants DUKE OF VENICE I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. BRABANTIO I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress: Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience? DESDEMONA My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord. BRABANTIO God be wi' you! I have done. Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child: For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. DUKE OF VENICE Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. BRABANTIO So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears, But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. DUKE OF VENICE The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. OTHELLO The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife. Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. DUKE OF VENICE If you please, Be't at her father's. BRABANTIO I'll not have it so. OTHELLO Nor I. DESDEMONA Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. DUKE OF VENICE What would You, Desdemona? DESDEMONA That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him. OTHELLO Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat--the young affects In me defunct--and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! DUKE OF VENICE Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, And speed must answer it. First Senator You must away to-night. OTHELLO With all my heart. DUKE OF VENICE At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. OTHELLO So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me. DUKE OF VENICE Let it be so. Good night to every one. To BRABANTIO And, noble signior, If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Senator Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. BRABANTIO Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee. Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, & c OTHELLO My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her: And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA RODERIGO Iago,-- IAGO What say'st thou, noble heart? RODERIGO What will I do, thinkest thou? IAGO Why, go to bed, and sleep. RODERIGO I will incontinently drown myself. IAGO If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! RODERIGO It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. IAGO O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. RODERIGO What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. IAGO Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion. RODERIGO It cannot be. IAGO It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. RODERIGO Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? IAGO Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. RODERIGO Where shall we meet i' the morning? IAGO At my lodging. RODERIGO I'll be with thee betimes. IAGO Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? RODERIGO What say you? IAGO No more of drowning, do you hear? RODERIGO I am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Exit IAGO Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe. But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:-- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen MONTANO What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. MONTANO Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. MONTANO If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman Third Gentleman News, lads! our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. MONTANO How! is this true? Third Gentleman The ship is here put in, A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. MONTANO I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. MONTANO Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard. Third Gentleman Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO CASSIO Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea. MONTANO Is he well shipp'd? CASSIO His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Enter a fourth Gentleman CASSIO What noise? Fourth Gentleman The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' CASSIO My hopes do shape him for the governor. Guns heard Second Gentlemen They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. CASSIO I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Second Gentleman I shall. Exit MONTANO But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? CASSIO Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the ingener. Re-enter second Gentleman How now! who has put in? Second Gentleman 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. CASSIO Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands-- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,-- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. MONTANO What is she? CASSIO She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort! Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! DESDEMONA I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? CASSIO He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. DESDEMONA O, but I fear--How lost you company? CASSIO The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail. Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard Second Gentleman They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. CASSIO See for the news. Exit Gentleman Good ancient, you are welcome. To EMILIA Welcome, mistress. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her IAGO Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. DESDEMONA Alas, she has no speech. IAGO In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. EMILIA You have little cause to say so. IAGO Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. EMILIA You shall not write my praise. IAGO No, let me not. DESDEMONA What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? IAGO O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. DESDEMONA Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour? IAGO Ay, madam. DESDEMONA I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? IAGO I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. DESDEMONA Well praised! How if she be black and witty? IAGO If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. DESDEMONA Worse and worse. EMILIA How if fair and foolish? IAGO She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. DESDEMONA These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? IAGO There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. DESDEMONA O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? IAGO She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,-- DESDEMONA To do what? IAGO To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. DESDEMONA O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? CASSIO He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. IAGO [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! Trumpet within The Moor! I know his trumpet. CASSIO 'Tis truly so. DESDEMONA Let's meet him and receive him. CASSIO Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO O my fair warrior! DESDEMONA My dear Othello! OTHELLO It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. DESDEMONA The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! OTHELLO Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kissing her That e'er our hearts shall make! IAGO [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTHELLO Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, Once more, well met at Cyprus. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants IAGO Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them--list me. The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is directly in love with him. RODERIGO With him! why, 'tis not possible. IAGO Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most pregnant and unforced position--who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. RODERIGO I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. IAGO Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? RODERIGO Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. IAGO Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister. RODERIGO Well. IAGO Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. RODERIGO I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. IAGO I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. RODERIGO Adieu. Exit IAGO That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb-- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too-- Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. Exit SCENE II. A street. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt SCENE III. A hall in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants OTHELLO Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. CASSIO Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. OTHELLO Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. To DESDEMONA Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants Enter IAGO CASSIO Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. IAGO Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. CASSIO She's a most exquisite lady. IAGO And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. CASSIO Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. IAGO What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. CASSIO An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. IAGO And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? CASSIO She is indeed perfection. IAGO Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. CASSIO Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. IAGO O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. CASSIO I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. IAGO What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants desire it. CASSIO Where are they? IAGO Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. CASSIO I'll do't; but it dislikes me. Exit IAGO If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.--But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen; servants following with wine CASSIO 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. MONTANO Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. IAGO Some wine, ho! Sings And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! CASSIO 'Fore God, an excellent song. IAGO I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. CASSIO Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? IAGO Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. CASSIO To the health of our general! MONTANO I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. IAGO O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! CASSIO Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. IAGO Will you hear't again? CASSIO No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. IAGO It's true, good lieutenant. CASSIO For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,--I hope to be saved. IAGO And so do I too, lieutenant. CASSIO Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All Excellent well. CASSIO Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. Exit MONTANO To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. IAGO You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: and do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. MONTANO But is he often thus? IAGO 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. MONTANO It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true? Enter RODERIGO IAGO [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. Exit RODERIGO MONTANO And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say So to the Moor. IAGO Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise? Cry within: 'Help! help!' Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO CASSIO You rogue! you rascal! MONTANO What's the matter, lieutenant? CASSIO A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. RODERIGO Beat me! CASSIO Dost thou prate, rogue? Striking RODERIGO MONTANO Nay, good lieutenant; Staying him I pray you, sir, hold your hand. CASSIO Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. MONTANO Come, come, you're drunk. CASSIO Drunk! They fight IAGO [Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny. Exit RODERIGO Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;-- Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir; Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed! Bell rings Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! You will be shamed for ever. Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO What is the matter here? MONTANO 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death. Faints OTHELLO Hold, for your lives! IAGO Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,-- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! OTHELLO Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. IAGO I do not know: friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now-- As if some planet had unwitted men-- Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it! OTHELLO How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? CASSIO I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. OTHELLO Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. MONTANO Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,-- While I spare speech, which something now offends me,-- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us. OTHELLO Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: if I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't? MONTANO If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. IAGO Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help: And Cassio following him with determined sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out-- The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back-- For this was brief--I found them close together, At blow and thrust; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. OTHELLO I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. DESDEMONA What's the matter? OTHELLO All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. To MONTANO, who is led off Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO IAGO What, are you hurt, lieutenant? CASSIO Ay, past all surgery. IAGO Marry, heaven forbid! CASSIO Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! IAGO As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. CASSIO I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! IAGO What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? CASSIO I know not. IAGO Is't possible? CASSIO I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? CASSIO It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. IAGO Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. CASSIO I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. IAGO Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. CASSIO I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! IAGO You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. CASSIO You advise me well. IAGO I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. CASSIO I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here. IAGO You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago. Exit IAGO And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. Re-enter RODERIGO How now, Roderigo! RODERIGO I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. IAGO How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit RODERIGO Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit ACT III SCENE I. Before the castle. Enter CASSIO and some Musicians CASSIO Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.' Music Enter Clown Clown Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? First Musician How, sir, how! Clown Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? First Musician Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clown O, thereby hangs a tail. First Musician Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clown Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. First Musician Well, sir, we will not. Clown If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say to hear music the general does not greatly care. First Musician We have none such, sir. Clown Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: go; vanish into air; away! Exeunt Musicians CASSIO Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clown No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. CASSIO Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: wilt thou do this? Clown She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. CASSIO Do, good my friend. Exit Clown Enter IAGO In happy time, Iago. IAGO You have not been a-bed, then? CASSIO Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. IAGO I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. CASSIO I humbly thank you for't. Exit IAGO I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter EMILIA EMILIA Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again. CASSIO Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. EMILIA Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. CASSIO I am much bound to you. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen OTHELLO These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. IAGO Well, my good lord, I'll do't. OTHELLO This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt SCENE III. The garden of the castle. Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA DESDEMONA Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. EMILIA Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. DESDEMONA O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. CASSIO Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. DESDEMONA I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. DESDEMONA Do not doubt that; before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away. EMILIA Madam, here comes my lord. CASSIO Madam, I'll take my leave. DESDEMONA Why, stay, and hear me speak. CASSIO Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. DESDEMONA Well, do your discretion. Exit CASSIO Enter OTHELLO and IAGO IAGO Ha! I like not that. OTHELLO What dost thou say? IAGO Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what. OTHELLO Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO I do believe 'twas he. DESDEMONA How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO Who is't you mean? DESDEMONA Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO Went he hence now? DESDEMONA Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. DESDEMONA But shall't be shortly? OTHELLO The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA Shall't be to-night at supper? OTHELLO No, not to-night. DESDEMONA To-morrow dinner, then? OTHELLO I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason-- Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best--is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,-- OTHELLO Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. OTHELLO Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA OTHELLO Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO My noble lord-- OTHELLO What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? IAGO But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. OTHELLO Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO O, yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO Indeed! OTHELLO Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord! OTHELLO Honest! ay, honest. IAGO My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO What dost thou think? IAGO Think, my lord! OTHELLO Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO I think thou dost; And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just They are close delations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO I think so too. IAGO Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none! OTHELLO Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. OTHELLO Nay, yet there's more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO I do beseech you-- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO What dost thou mean? IAGO Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. IAGO You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. OTHELLO Ha! IAGO O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! OTHELLO O misery! IAGO Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO Why, why is this? Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this,-- Away at once with love or jealousy! IAGO I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Timon of Athens Shakespeare homepage | Timon of Athens | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors Poet Good day, sir. Painter I am glad you're well. Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Painter It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord. Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd. Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jeweller: I have a jewel here-- Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that-- Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Merchant 'Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Painter 'Tis a good piece. Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Painter Indifferent. Poet Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over Painter How this lord is follow'd! Poet The senators of Athens: happy man! Painter Look, more! Poet You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Painter How shall I understand you? Poet I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Painter I saw them speak together. Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Painter 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Painter Ay, marry, what of these? Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you? Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help: Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Messenger Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Messenger All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an old Athenian Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON Freely, good father. Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. TIMON I have so: what of him? Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service. Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON Well; what further? Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON The man is honest. Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON Does she love him? Old Athenian She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON How shall she be endow'd, if she be mated with an equal husband? Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Athenian Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may The state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; or since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work; And you shall find I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Painter The gods preserve ye! TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise? TIMON A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON Well mock'd. Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid? Enter APEMANTUS Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship. Merchant He'll spare none. TIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS Are they not Athenians? TIMON Yes. APEMANTUS Then I repent not. Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON Whither art going? APEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for. APEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. TIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS The best, for the innocence. TIMON Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Painter You're a dog. APEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS No; I eat not lords. TIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. APEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. TIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Poet How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS Thou liest. Poet Art not one? APEMANTUS Yes. Poet Then I lie not. APEMANTUS Art not a poet? Poet Yes. APEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet That's not feigned; he is so. APEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. TIMON What, thyself? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Wherefore? APEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? Merchant Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Merchant If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger TIMON What trumpet's that? Messenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! APEMANTUS So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except APEMANTUS Enter two Lords First Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Time to be honest. First Lord That time serves still. APEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it. Second Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast? APEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. Second Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. Second Lord Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. First Lord Hang thyself! APEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. Second Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence! APEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. Exit First Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. Second Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. First Lord The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. Second Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in? First Lord I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS. Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty. TIMON O, by no means, Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS A noble spirit! TIMON Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON Ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. They sit First Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not? TIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS No; You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. APEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. Second Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: This and my food are equals; there's no odds: Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. Apemantus' grace. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping: Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't: Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em! First Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we can our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Second Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Third Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much. APEMANTUS Much! Tucket, within TIMON What means that trump? Enter a Servant How now? Servant Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON Ladies! what are their wills? Servant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. TIMON I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid First Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved. Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life. As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto 't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for 't. First Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt Cupid and Ladies TIMON Flavius. FLAVIUS My lord? TIMON The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour; Aside Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should, When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit First Lord Where be our men? Servant Here, my lord, in readiness. Second Lord Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON O my friends, I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. First Lord I am so far already in your gifts,-- All So are we all. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. TIMON They are fairly welcome. FLAVIUS I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee: I prithee, let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter a Second Servant Second Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Enter a third Servant How now! what news? Third Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward. FLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer: Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word: he is so kind that he now Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. Second Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it. Third Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. Second Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call to you. All Lords O, none so welcome. TIMON I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord. First Lord We are so virtuously bound-- TIMON And so Am I to you. Second Lord So infinitely endear'd-- TIMON All to you. Lights, more lights! First Lord The best of happiness, Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. TIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and vain-glories? TIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then: I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Senator's house. Enter Senator, with papers in his hand Senator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure? Senator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when-- 'Commend me to your master'--and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger; Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS I go, sir. Senator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in contempt. CAPHIS I will, sir. Senator Go. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro CAPHIS Good even, Varro: what, You come for money? Varro's Servant Is't not your business too? CAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore? Isidore's Servant It is so. CAPHIS Would we were all discharged! Varro's Servant I fear it. CAPHIS Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, & c TIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? CAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON Go to my steward. CAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awaked by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON Mine honest friend, I prithee, but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS Nay, good my lord,-- TIMON Contain thyself, good friend. Varro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,-- Isidore's Servant From Isidore; He humbly prays your speedy payment. CAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-- Varro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past. Isidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords To FLAVIUS Come hither: pray you, How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS Pray, draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and Fool CAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. Varro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog! Varro's Servant How dost, fool? APEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Varro's Servant I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself. To the Fool Come away. Isidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet. CAPHIS Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! All Servants What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Asses. All Servants Why? APEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. Fool How do you, gentlemen? All Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress? Fool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS Good! gramercy. Enter Page Fool Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters: I know not which is which. APEMANTUS Canst not read? Page No. APEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. Page Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. Exit APEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. Fool Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? All Servants Ay; would they served us! APEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool Are you three usurers' men? All Servants Ay, fool. Fool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this? Varro's Servant I could render one. APEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Varro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Varro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. APEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus. All Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come. Fool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool FLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt Servants TIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? FLAVIUS You would not hear me, At many leisures I proposed. TIMON Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took. When my indispos ition put you back: And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time-- The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? TIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON You tell me true. FLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON Prithee, no more. FLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. TIMON Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants Servants My lord? my lord? TIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord. FLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! TIMON Go you, sir, to the senators-- Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS I have been bold-- For that I knew it the most general way-- To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON Is't true? can't be? FLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,-- But yet they could have wish'd--they know not-- Something hath been amiss--a noble nature May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;-- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence. TIMON You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. To a Servant Go to Ventidius. To FLAVIUS Prithee, be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. No blame belongs to thee. To Servant Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents. Exit Servant To FLAVIUS That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in Lucullus' house. FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him Servant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS Servant Here's my lord. LUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. Exit Servants And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS His health is well sir. LUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter Servant, with wine Servant Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee. To Servant Get you gone, sirrah. Exit Servant Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee! Throwing the money back LUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let moulten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel master's passion! this slave, Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place. Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers LUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. First Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money. Second Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. LUCILIUS How! Second Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man! there was very little honour showed in't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,-- To LUCIUS LUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-- LUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty five hundred talents. SERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir. LUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall. LUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit First Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius? Second Stranger Ay, too well. First Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse, Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. Third Stranger Religion groans at it. First Stranger For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Sempronius' house. Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's SEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these Owe their estates unto him. Servant My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have au denied him. SEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? hum! It shows but little love or judgment in him: Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like physicians, Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me? Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, But his occasion might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite its last? No: So it may prove an argument of laughter To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum, Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit Servant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out Varro's First Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS The like to you kind Varro. HORTENSIUS Lucius! What, do we meet together? Lucilius' Servant Ay, and I think One business does command us all; for mine Is money. TITUS So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS Lucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS Good day at once. Lucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? PHILOTUS Labouring for nine. Lucilius' Servant So much? PHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet? Lucilius' Servant Not yet. PHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. PHILOTUS I am of your fear for that. TITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS Most true, he does. TITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS It is against my heart. Lucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. Varro's First Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Lucilius' Servant Five thousand mine. Varro's First Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS. TITUS One of Lord Timon's men. Lucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not. TITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. FLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled Lucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. TITUS Do you hear, sir? Varro's Second Servant By your leave, sir,-- FLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly: Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. Exit Varro's First Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter? Varro's Second Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS Good gods! TITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Lucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus. TITUS My lord, here is my bill. Lucilius' Servant Here's mine. HORTENSIUS And mine, my lord. Both Varro's Servants And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS All our bills. TIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle. Lucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,- TIMON Cut my heart in sums. TITUS Mine, fifty talents. TIMON Tell out my blood. Lucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON Five thousand drops pays that. What yours?--and yours? Varro's First Servant My lord,-- Varro's Second Servant My lord,-- TIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? devils! FLAVIUS My dear lord,-- TIMON What if it should be so? FLAVIUS My lord,-- TIMON I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS Here, my lord. TIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: All, sirrah, all: I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting. First Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. Second Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants ALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! First Senator Now, captain? ALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument. First Senator You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES My lord,-- First Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? sleep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it, And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. Second Senator You breathe in vain. ALCIBIADES In vain! his service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life. First Senator What's that? ALCIBIADES I say, my lords, he has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! Second Senator He has made too much plenty with 'em; He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us, His days are foul and his drink dangerous. First Senator He dies. ALCIBIADES Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him-- Though his right arm might purchase his own time And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore For law is strict, and war is nothing more. First Senator We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. ALCIBIADES Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me. Second Senator How! ALCIBIADES Call me to your remembrances. Third Senator What! ALCIBIADES I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be, I should prove so base, To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you. First Senator Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever. ALCIBIADES Banish me! Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. First Senator If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt Senators ALCIBIADES Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit SCENE VI. The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at several doors First Lord The good time of day to you, sir. Second Lord I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. First Lord Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered: I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. Second Lord It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. First Lord I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. Second Lord In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. First Lord I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. Second Lord Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you? First Lord A thousand pieces. Second Lord A thousand pieces! First Lord What of you? Second Lord He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes. Enter TIMON and Attendants TIMON With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you? First Lord Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. Second Lord The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently. First Lord I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you an empty messenger. TIMON O, sir, let it not trouble you. Second Lord My noble lord,-- TIMON Ah, my good friend, what cheer? Second Lord My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. TIMON Think not on 't, sir. Second Lord If you had sent but two hours before,-- TIMON Let it not cumber your better remembrance. The banquet brought in Come, bring in all together. Second Lord All covered dishes! First Lord Royal cheer, I warrant you. Third Lord Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. First Lord How do you? What's the news? Third Lord Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it? First Lord Second Lord Alcibiades banished! Third Lord 'Tis so, be sure of it. First Lord How! how! Second Lord I pray you, upon what? TIMON My worthy friends, will you draw near? Third Lord I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. Second Lord This is the old man still. Third Lord Will 't hold? will 't hold? Second Lord It does: but time will--and so-- Third Lord I do conceive. TIMON Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people--what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of warm water Some Speak What does his lordship mean? Some Others I know not. TIMON May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces Your reeking villany. Throwing the water in their faces Live loathed and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Soft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;-- Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Re-enter the Lords, Senators, & c First Lord How now, my lords! Second Lord Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? Third Lord Push! did you see my cap? Fourth Lord I have lost my gown. First Lord He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel? Third Lord Did you see my cap? Second Lord Here 'tis. Fourth Lord Here lies my gown. First Lord Let's make no stay. Second Lord Lord Timon's mad. Third Lord I feel 't upon my bones. Fourth Lord One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens. Enter TIMON TIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity, Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all-- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants First Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? FLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. First Servant Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! Second Servant As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants FLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house. Third Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Servants embrace, and part several ways O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out: I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore. Enter TIMON, from the cave O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! Digging Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. March afar off Ha! a drum ? Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. Keeping some gold Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak. TIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? TIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubim look. PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off! TIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon? TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? TIMON Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA Yes. TIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-- TIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. TIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,-- TIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES Why me, Timon? TIMON That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? TIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd, No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face, A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Well, more gold: what then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. TIMON Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold: Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES I never did thee harm. TIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me. ALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm? TIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike! Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA TIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Digging Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!-- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter APEMANTUS More man? plague, plague! APEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. TIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself. APEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find-- TIMON A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS Why? TIMON Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS To vex thee. TIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON What! a knave too? APEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. TIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS Art thou proud yet? TIMON Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root APEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast. Offering him a root TIMON First mend my company, take away thyself. APEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. TIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; if not, I would it were. APEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS Here is no use for gold. TIMON The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon? TIMON Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind! APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. TIMON On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar? TIMON Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? APEMANTUS Myself. TIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS Ay, Timon. TIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON If I name thee. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. APEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Throws a stone at him APEMANTUS Beast! TIMON Slave! APEMANTUS Toad! TIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon 't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. To the gold O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON Throng'd to! APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery. TIMON Long live so, and so die. Exit APEMANTUS I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Banditti First Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. Second Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. Third Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? Second Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. First Bandit Is not this he? Banditti Where? Second Bandit 'Tis his description. Third Bandit He; I know him. Banditti Save thee, Timon. TIMON Now, thieves? Banditti Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON Both too; and women's sons. Banditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? First Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery. The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. Third Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. First Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. Second Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. First Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt Banditti Enter FLAVIUS FLAVIUS O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON Away! what art thou? FLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. TIMON If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave ACT V SCENE I. The woods. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching them from his cave Painter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? Painter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Painter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having. Poet What have you now to present unto him? Painter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Painter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. TIMON comes from his cave, behind TIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Painter True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. Coming forward Poet Hail, worthy Timon! Painter Our late noble master! TIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Painter He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON Ay, you are honest men. Painter We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Painter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Painter So, so, my lord. TIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Both Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON You'll take it ill. Both Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON Will you, indeed? Both Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both Do we, my lord? TIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he's a made-up villain. Painter I know none such, my lord. Poet Nor I. TIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. Both Name them, my lord, let's know them. TIMON You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves: To Painter You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence! To Poet You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators FLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. First Senator Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon. Second Senator At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. TIMON comes from his cave TIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! First Senator Worthy Timon,-- TIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. First Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. First Senator O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. Second Senator They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. First Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. Second Senator And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens. First Senator Therefore, Timon,-- TIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! First Senator We speak in vain. TIMON But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. First Senator That's well spoke. TIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- First Senator These words become your lips as they pass thorough them. Second Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. First Senator I like this well; he will return again. TIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. FLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. Retires to his cave First Senator His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. Second Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. First Senator It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens. Enter two Senators and a Messenger First Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files As full as thy report? Messenger have spoke the least: Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. Second Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Messenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; Whom, though in general part we were opposed, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends: this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' the cause against your city, In part for his sake moved. First Senator Here come our brothers. Enter the Senators from TIMON Third Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON Soldier By all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: Our captain hath in every figure skill, An aged interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers ALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. First Senator Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. Second Senator So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. First Senator These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them. Second Senator Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. First Senator All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. Second Senator What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. First Senator Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. Second Senator Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon's and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. Both 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates Enter Soldier Soldier My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt Titus Andronicus Shakespeare homepage | Titus Andronicus | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol. The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side, SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit'd home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause. Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol Enter a Captain Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. The tomb is opened There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes; re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS ANDRONICUS Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS ANDRONICUS Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS ANDRONICUS People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS ANDRONICUS Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!' MARCUS ANDRONICUS With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' A long flourish till they come down SATURNINUS Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS ANDRONICUS It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record, and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS ANDRONICUS [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? LAVINIA Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show BASSIANUS Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Seizing LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS ANDRONICUS 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! SATURNINUS Surprised! by whom? BASSIANUS By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS My lord, you pass not here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome? Stabbing MUTIUS MUTIUS Help, Lucius, help! Dies During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. LUCIUS Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promised love. Exit SATURNINUS No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS ANDRONICUS O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me. TAMORA And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS ANDRONICUS I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS ANDRONICUS No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! LUCIUS But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren. QUINTUS MARTIUS And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS ANDRONICUS 'And shall!' what villain was it that spake that word? QUINTUS He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS ANDRONICUS No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS ANDRONICUS Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel MARCUS ANDRONICUS Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,-- QUINTUS Father, and in that name doth nature speak,-- TITUS ANDRONICUS Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-- LUCIUS Dear father, soul and substance of us all,-- MARCUS ANDRONICUS Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS ANDRONICUS Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. MUTIUS is put into the tomb LUCIUS There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. All [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? TITUS ANDRONICUS I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others SATURNINUS So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. SATURNINUS Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine! TAMORA My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS What, madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Aside to SATURNINUS be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life, And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. Aloud Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. TITUS ANDRONICUS I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. LUCIUS We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS ANDRONICUS That, on mine honour, here I do protest. SATURNINUS Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS ANDRONICUS To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour. SATURNINUS Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON AARON Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora: Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Holloa! what storm is this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving DEMETRIUS Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am graced; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. CHIRON Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON [Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? They draw AARON [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS Not I, till I have sheathed My rapier in his bosom and withal Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. CHIRON For that I am prepared and full resolved. Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing darest perform! AARON Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. AARON Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON To achieve her! how? DEMETRIUS Why makest thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tired with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? would it offend you, then That both should speed? CHIRON Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS Nor me, so I were one. AARON For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar: 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, DEMETRIUS Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, & c., MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant and the woods are green: Uncouple here and let us make a bay And wake the emperor and his lovely bride And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good: I promised your grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS And you have rung it lustily, my lord; Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA I say, no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. To TAMORA Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS ANDRONICUS I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS ANDRONICUS And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest. Enter AARON, with a bag of gold AARON He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest Hides the gold That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter TAMORA TAMORA My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. TAMORA Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA BASSIANUS Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA Under your patience, gentle empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS The king my brother shall have note of this. LAVINIA Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON DEMETRIUS How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS This is a witness that I am thy son. Stabs BASSIANUS CHIRON And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies LAVINIA Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,-- TAMORA I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: To CHIRON Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. CHIRON What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall-- CHIRON Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r. Exit Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. Falls into the pit QUINTUS What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee. Falls in Enter SATURNINUS with AARON SATURNINUS Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. MARTIUS We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and Lucius TAMORA Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. She giveth SATURNINUS a letter SATURNINUS [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS ANDRONICUS High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,-- SATURNINUS If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS ANDRONICUS I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS ANDRONICUS Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Enter MARCUS MARCUS Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast! Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee O, could our mourning ease thy misery! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading TITUS ANDRONICUS Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS O noble father, you lament in vain: The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,-- LUCIUS My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Rises But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS ANDRONICUS O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS ANDRONICUS Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARCUS ANDRONICUS This was thy daughter. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS ANDRONICUS Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camest, And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use: Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. LUCIUS Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS ANDRONICUS It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me: what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears: Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead: and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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. 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 dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? ACT IV SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens. Enter TIMON TIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths Convert o' the instant, green virginity, Do 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen, pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all-- The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. Exit SCENE II. Athens. A room in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants First Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? FLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. First Servant Such a house broke! So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! Second Servant As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants FLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house. Third Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark, And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. FLAVIUS Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Servants embrace, and part several ways O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed, Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat Of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out: I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore. Enter TIMON, from the cave O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! Digging Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. March afar off Ha! a drum ? Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. Keeping some gold Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak. TIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? TIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubim look. PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off! TIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon? TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? TIMON Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA Yes. TIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-- TIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. TIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,-- TIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES Why me, Timon? TIMON That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. ALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel. TIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? TIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd, No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face, A pox of wrinkles! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA Well, more gold: what then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. TIMON Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There's more gold: Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! PHRYNIA TIMANDRA More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. ALCIBIADES I never did thee harm. TIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me. ALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm? TIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. ALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike! Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA TIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Digging Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!-- Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter APEMANTUS More man? plague, plague! APEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. TIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! APEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. TIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself. APEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point'st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find-- TIMON A fool of thee: depart. APEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did. TIMON I hate thee worse. APEMANTUS Why? TIMON Thou flatter'st misery. APEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. TIMON Why dost thou seek me out? APEMANTUS To vex thee. TIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON What! a knave too? APEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. TIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS Art thou proud yet? TIMON Ay, that I am not thee. APEMANTUS I, that I was No prodigal. TIMON I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root APEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast. Offering him a root TIMON First mend my company, take away thyself. APEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. TIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; if not, I would it were. APEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens? TIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. APEMANTUS Here is no use for gold. TIMON The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. APEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon? TIMON Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind! APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it? TIMON To sauce thy dishes. APEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. TIMON On what I hate I feed not. APEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar? TIMON Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? TIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? APEMANTUS Myself. TIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? TIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? APEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. TIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? APEMANTUS Ay, Timon. TIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! APEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. TIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? APEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. TIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. TIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! APEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. TIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure. APEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. TIMON If I name thee. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. APEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off! TIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee. APEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst! TIMON Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. Throws a stone at him APEMANTUS Beast! TIMON Slave! APEMANTUS Toad! TIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon 't. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. To the gold O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEMANTUS Would 'twere so! But not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. TIMON Throng'd to! APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Thy back, I prithee. APEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery. TIMON Long live so, and so die. Exit APEMANTUS I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Banditti First Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. Second Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. Third Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? Second Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. First Bandit Is not this he? Banditti Where? Second Bandit 'Tis his description. Third Bandit He; I know him. Banditti Save thee, Timon. TIMON Now, thieves? Banditti Soldiers, not thieves. TIMON Both too; and women's sons. Banditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want. TIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? First Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes. TIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery. The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen. Third Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. First Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. Second Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. First Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt Banditti Enter FLAVIUS FLAVIUS O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! TIMON Away! what art thou? FLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir? TIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee. FLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours. TIMON Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. FLAVIUS The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. TIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts To entertain me as your steward still. TIMON Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he's a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? FLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living; and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive. FLAVIUS O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. TIMON If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave ACT V SCENE I. The woods. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching them from his cave Painter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold? Painter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Painter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having. Poet What have you now to present unto him? Painter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Painter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. TIMON comes from his cave, behind TIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Painter True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. Coming forward Poet Hail, worthy Timon! Painter Our late noble master! TIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men? Poet Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Painter He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON Ay, you are honest men. Painter We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Painter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Painter So, so, my lord. TIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Both Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON You'll take it ill. Both Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON Will you, indeed? Both Doubt it not, worthy lord. TIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both Do we, my lord? TIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he's a made-up villain. Painter I know none such, my lord. Poet Nor I. TIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. Both Name them, my lord, let's know them. TIMON You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves: To Painter You have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence! To Poet You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators FLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him. First Senator Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon. Second Senator At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. FLAVIUS Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. TIMON comes from his cave TIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! First Senator Worthy Timon,-- TIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. First Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. TIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. First Senator O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. Second Senator They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. TIMON You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. First Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. Second Senator And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens. First Senator Therefore, Timon,-- TIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. FLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain. TIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! First Senator We speak in vain. TIMON But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. First Senator That's well spoke. TIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- First Senator These words become your lips as they pass thorough them. Second Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. TIMON Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. First Senator I like this well; he will return again. TIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. FLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. Retires to his cave First Senator His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. Second Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. First Senator It requires swift foot. Exeunt SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens. Enter two Senators and a Messenger First Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files As full as thy report? Messenger have spoke the least: Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. Second Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Messenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; Whom, though in general part we were opposed, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends: this man was riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i' the cause against your city, In part for his sake moved. First Senator Here come our brothers. Enter the Senators from TIMON Third Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare: Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt SCENE III. The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON Soldier By all description this should be the place. Who's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man. Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax: Our captain hath in every figure skill, An aged interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers ALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. First Senator Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. Second Senator So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. First Senator These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them. Second Senator Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted. First Senator All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. Second Senator What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to't with thy sword. First Senator Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. Second Senator Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. ALCIBIADES Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon's and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be render'd to your public laws At heaviest answer. Both 'Tis most nobly spoken. ALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates Enter Soldier Soldier My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. ALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.' These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other's leech. Let our drums strike. Exeunt Titus Andronicus Shakespeare homepage | Titus Andronicus | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol. The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side, SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms, And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence and nobility; But let desert in pure election shine, And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius For many good and great deserts to Rome: A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accit'd home From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent since first he undertook This cause of Rome and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with horror's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed. And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends, And to my fortunes and the people's favor Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, And to the love and favor of my country Commit myself, my person and the cause. Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol Enter a Captain Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught, Returns with precious jading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that King Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. The tomb is opened There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more! LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeased, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me! Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs and return, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice: To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety! CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths-- When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-- To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with their swords bloody LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Enter LAVINIA LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render, for my brethren's obsequies; And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes; re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame! Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS A better head her glorious body fits Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: What should I don this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS ANDRONICUS Patience, Prince Saturninus. SATURNINUS Romans, do me right: Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! LUCIUS Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! TITUS ANDRONICUS Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. BASSIANUS Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die: My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. TITUS ANDRONICUS People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages: Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Tribunes To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. TITUS ANDRONICUS Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal: Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!' MARCUS ANDRONICUS With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' A long flourish till they come down SATURNINUS Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And, for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? TITUS ANDRONICUS It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, King and commander of our commonweal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. SATURNINUS Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts Rome shall record, and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. TITUS ANDRONICUS [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly and your followers. SATURNINUS A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? LAVINIA Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. SATURNINUS Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go; Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show BASSIANUS Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. Seizing LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord? BASSIANUS Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal To do myself this reason and this right. MARCUS ANDRONICUS 'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice: This prince in justice seizeth but his own. LUCIUS And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised! SATURNINUS Surprised! by whom? BASSIANUS By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. MUTIUS My lord, you pass not here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, villain boy! Barr'st me my way in Rome? Stabbing MUTIUS MUTIUS Help, Lucius, help! Dies During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so, In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. TITUS ANDRONICUS Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine; My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. LUCIUS Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promised love. Exit SATURNINUS No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. TITUS ANDRONICUS O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? SATURNINUS But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS These words are razors to my wounded heart. SATURNINUS And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome, Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espoused my bride along with me. TAMORA And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. SATURNINUS Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS ANDRONICUS I am not bid to wait upon this bride. Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. TITUS ANDRONICUS No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! LUCIUS But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. TITUS ANDRONICUS Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: Bury him where you can; he comes not here. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him He must be buried with his brethren. QUINTUS MARTIUS And shall, or him we will accompany. TITUS ANDRONICUS 'And shall!' what villain was it that spake that word? QUINTUS He that would vouch it in any place but here. TITUS ANDRONICUS What, would you bury him in my despite? MARCUS ANDRONICUS No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. TITUS ANDRONICUS Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one; So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. MARTIUS He is not with himself; let us withdraw. QUINTUS Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel MARCUS ANDRONICUS Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,-- QUINTUS Father, and in that name doth nature speak,-- TITUS ANDRONICUS Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,-- LUCIUS Dear father, soul and substance of us all,-- MARCUS ANDRONICUS Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous: The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals: Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy Be barr'd his entrance here. TITUS ANDRONICUS Rise, Marcus, rise. The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! Well, bury him, and bury me the next. MUTIUS is put into the tomb LUCIUS There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. All [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps, How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? TITUS ANDRONICUS I know not, Marcus; but I know it is, Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others SATURNINUS So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! BASSIANUS And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. SATURNINUS Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. BASSIANUS Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My truth-betrothed love and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. SATURNINUS 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. BASSIANUS My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know: By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd; That in the rescue of Lavinia With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself in all his deeds A father and a friend to thee and Rome. TITUS ANDRONICUS Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me. Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine! TAMORA My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak in indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. SATURNINUS What, madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? TAMORA Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you! But on mine honour dare I undertake For good Lord Titus' innocence in all; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Aside to SATURNINUS be won at last; Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne; Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant you for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats; and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life, And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. Aloud Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. SATURNINUS Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. TITUS ANDRONICUS I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. TAMORA Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconciled your friends and you. For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable. And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia; By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. LUCIUS We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness, That what we did was mildly as we might, Tendering our sister's honour and our own. MARCUS ANDRONICUS That, on mine honour, here I do protest. SATURNINUS Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. TAMORA Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back. SATURNINUS Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend, and sure as death I swore I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. TITUS ANDRONICUS To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour. SATURNINUS Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON AARON Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora: Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. Holloa! what storm is this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving DEMETRIUS Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am graced; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. CHIRON Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: I am as able and as fit as thou To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. AARON [Aside] Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. DEMETRIUS Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath Till you know better how to handle it. CHIRON Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. DEMETRIUS Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? They draw AARON [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns; Nor would your noble mother for much more Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. DEMETRIUS Not I, till I have sheathed My rapier in his bosom and withal Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. CHIRON For that I am prepared and full resolved. Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing darest perform! AARON Away, I say! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all. Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous It is to jet upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware! and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. CHIRON I care not, I, knew she and all the world: I love Lavinia more than all the world. DEMETRIUS Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. AARON Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. CHIRON Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. AARON To achieve her! how? DEMETRIUS Why makest thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. AARON [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. DEMETRIUS Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks and liberality? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? AARON Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Would serve your turns. CHIRON Ay, so the turn were served. DEMETRIUS Aaron, thou hast hit it. AARON Would you had hit it too! Then should not we be tired with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools To square for this? would it offend you, then That both should speed? CHIRON Faith, not me. DEMETRIUS Nor me, so I were one. AARON For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar: 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve, That what you cannot as you would achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are Fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of Fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. CHIRON Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice, DEMETRIUS Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt SCENE II. A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, & c., MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS ANDRONICUS The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant and the woods are green: Uncouple here and let us make a bay And wake the emperor and his lovely bride And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To attend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good: I promised your grace a hunter's peal. SATURNINUS And you have rung it lustily, my lord; Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. BASSIANUS Lavinia, how say you? LAVINIA I say, no; I have been broad awake two hours and more. SATURNINUS Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. To TAMORA Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. MARCUS ANDRONICUS I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. TITUS ANDRONICUS And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. DEMETRIUS Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest. Enter AARON, with a bag of gold AARON He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest Hides the gold That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter TAMORA TAMORA My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. AARON Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. TAMORA Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! AARON No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA BASSIANUS Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest? TAMORA Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! LAVINIA Under your patience, gentle empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. BASSIANUS Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? LAVINIA And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. BASSIANUS The king my brother shall have note of this. LAVINIA Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON DEMETRIUS How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? TAMORA Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. DEMETRIUS This is a witness that I am thy son. Stabs BASSIANUS CHIRON And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies LAVINIA Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! TAMORA Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. DEMETRIUS Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? CHIRON An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. TAMORA But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. CHIRON I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. LAVINIA O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,-- TAMORA I will not hear her speak; away with her! LAVINIA Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. DEMETRIUS Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. LAVINIA When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: To CHIRON Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. CHIRON What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! TAMORA I know not what it means; away with her! LAVINIA O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. TAMORA Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me. LAVINIA O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. TAMORA What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go. LAVINIA 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. TAMORA So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. DEMETRIUS Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. LAVINIA No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall-- CHIRON Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA TAMORA Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r. Exit Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS AARON Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep. QUINTUS My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. MARTIUS And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. Falls into the pit QUINTUS What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? MARTIUS O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament! AARON [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? QUINTUS I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. MARTIUS To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. QUINTUS Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what. MARTIUS Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. QUINTUS If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? MARTIUS Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. QUINTUS Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. MARTIUS Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. QUINTUS Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee. Falls in Enter SATURNINUS with AARON SATURNINUS Along with me: I'll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap'd into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? MARTIUS The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. SATURNINUS My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. MARTIUS We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead. Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS, and Lucius TAMORA Where is my lord the king? SATURNINUS Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief. TAMORA Where is thy brother Bassianus? SATURNINUS Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. TAMORA Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. She giveth SATURNINUS a letter SATURNINUS [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here. AARON My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. SATURNINUS [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. TAMORA What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! TITUS ANDRONICUS High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,-- SATURNINUS If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? TAMORA Andronicus himself did take it up. TITUS ANDRONICUS I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness' will To answer their suspicion with their lives. SATURNINUS Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. TAMORA Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. TITUS ANDRONICUS Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the forest. Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Enter MARCUS MARCUS Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast! Cousin, a word; where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touch'd them for his life! Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee O, could our mourning ease thy misery! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of execution; TITUS going before, pleading TITUS ANDRONICUS Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. Lieth down; the Judges, & c., pass by him, and Exeunt For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears: Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. LUCIUS O noble father, you lament in vain: The tribunes hear you not; no man is by; And you recount your sorrows to a stone. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead. Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,-- LUCIUS My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear, They would not mark me, or if they did mark, They would not pity me, yet plead I must; Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attired in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones; A stone is silent, and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Rises But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? LUCIUS To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounced My everlasting doom of banishment. TITUS ANDRONICUS O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished! But who comes with our brother Marcus here? Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA MARCUS ANDRONICUS Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. TITUS ANDRONICUS Will it consume me? let me see it, then. MARCUS ANDRONICUS This was thy daughter. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, Marcus, so she is. LUCIUS Ay me, this object kills me! TITUS ANDRONICUS Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea, Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou camest, And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have served me to effectless use: Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. LUCIUS Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, that delightful engine of her thoughts That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! LUCIUS O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? MARCUS ANDRONICUS O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath received some unrecuring wound. TITUS ANDRONICUS It was my deer; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock Environed with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my other son, a banished man, And here my brother, weeping at my woes. But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me: what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so? Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears: Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead: and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she knows them innocent. TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA TITUS ANDRONICUS If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, With miry slime left on them by a flood? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some deuce of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. LUCIUS Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. LUCIUS Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. TITUS ANDRONICUS Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee: His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this, As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! Enter AARON AARON Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. TITUS ANDRONICUS O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? LUCIUS Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. MARCUS ANDRONICUS Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. AARON Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. MARCUS ANDRONICUS My hand shall go. LUCIUS By heaven, it shall not go! TITUS ANDRONICUS Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. LUCIUS Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. MARCUS ANDRONICUS And, for our father's sake and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. TITUS ANDRONICUS Agree between you; I will spare my hand. LUCIUS Then I'll go fetch an axe. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But I will use the axe. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. AARON [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. Cuts off TITUS's hand Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS ANDRONICUS Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd. Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it More hath it merited; that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchased at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. AARON I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Aside Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace. Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS ANDRONICUS O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call! To LAVINIA What, wilt thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. MARCUS ANDRONICUS O brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. TITUS ANDRONICUS Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Then be my passions bottomless with them. MARCUS ANDRONICUS But yet let reason govern thy lament. TITUS ANDRONICUS If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow! She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand Messenger Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd; That woe is me to think upon thy woes More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. LUCIUS Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! LAVINIA kisses TITUS MARCUS ANDRONICUS Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless As frozen water to a starved snake. TITUS ANDRONICUS When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS ANDRONICUS Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here: Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs: Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes; Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? TITUS ANDRONICUS Ha, ha, ha! MARCUS ANDRONICUS Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. TITUS ANDRONICUS Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes And make them blind with tributary tears: Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me I shall never come to bliss Till all these mischiefs be return'd again Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other I will bear. Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms! Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare homepage | Romeo and Juliet | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY The heads of the maids? SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON Fear me not. GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORY No. SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM No better. SAMPSON Well, sir. GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM You lie. SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight Enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords Enter TYBALT TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO In love? ROMEO Out-- BENVOLIO Of love? ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt SCENE II. A street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant CAPULET But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO For what, I pray thee? ROMEO For your broken shin. BENVOLIO Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO Stay, fellow; I can read. Reads 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET JULIET How now! who calls? Nurse Your mother. JULIET Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET A fortnight and odd days. Nurse Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO Strike, drum. Exeunt SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant Ay, boy, ready. First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. Exit ROMEO [To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET You kiss by the book. Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO What is her mother? Nurse Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse I know not. JULIET Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO BENVOLIO Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO ROMEO He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JULIET appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO What shall I swear by? JULIET Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. Nurse calls within I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Exit, above ROMEO O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse [Within] Madam! JULIET By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO So thrive my soul-- JULIET A thousand times good night! Exit, above ROMEO A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. Retiring Re-enter JULIET, above JULIET Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET Romeo! ROMEO My dear? JULIET At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO At the hour of nine. JULIET I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO I would I were thy bird. JULIET Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit above ROMEO Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO The what? MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO Pink for flower. MERCUTIO Right. ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse You say well. MERCUTIO Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO What hast thou found? MERCUTIO No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing 'lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO Go to; I say you shall. Nurse This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO Commend me to thy lady. Nurse Ay, a thousand times. Exit Romeo Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! Enter Nurse and PETER O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A public place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants BENVOLIO I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO And what to? MERCUTIO Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others TYBALT Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT I am for you. Drawing ROMEO Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO Come, sir, your passado. They fight ROMEO Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers MERCUTIO I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. Exit Page ROMEO Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO ROMEO This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! Re-enter BENVOLIO BENVOLIO O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Re-enter TYBALT Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO This shall determine that. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others PRINCE Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Enter Nurse, with cords Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down JULIET Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET Can heaven be so envious? Nurse Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Knocking within FRIAR LAURENCE Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Knocking FRIAR LAURENCE Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Knocking Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCE Welcome, then. Enter Nurse Nurse O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO Nurse! Nurse Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Drawing his sword FRIAR LAURENCE Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit ROMEO How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. Exeunt SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber Nurse Madam! JULIET Nurse? Nurse Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit JULIET Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. He goeth down JULIET Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIET Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET What villain madam? LADY CAPULET That same villain, Romeo. JULIET [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULET That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse I speak no treason. CAPULET O, God ye god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit JULIET Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit ACT IV SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS FRIAR LAURENCE On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET PARIS Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE That's a certain text. PARIS Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Exeunt SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second Servant Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET Go, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Enter JULIET CAPULET How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. Exeunt JULIET and Nurse LADY CAPULET We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. Exeunt SCENE III. Juliet's chamber. Enter JULIET and Nurse JULIET Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse JULIET Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. Laying down her dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter CAPULET CAPULET Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. Exit CAPULET Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Music within Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Re-enter Nurse Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Exeunt SCENE V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! Enter LADY CAPULET LADY CAPULET What noise is here? Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET What is the matter? Nurse Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. Enter CAPULET CAPULET For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET O woful time! CAPULET Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter PETER PETER Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER You will not, then? First Musician No. PETER I will then give it you soundly. First Musician What will you give us? PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. Exeunt SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR JOHN FRIAR JOHN Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Exit SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch PARIS Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. Retires PARIS Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The Page whistles The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. Retires Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c ROMEO Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! They fight PAGE O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. Exit PARIS O, I am slain! Falls If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. Dies ROMEO In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! Drinks O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Dies Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo! Advances Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Enters the tomb Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET wakes JULIET O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? Noise within FRIAR LAURENCE I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, Noise again I dare no longer stay. JULIET Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit FRIAR LAURENCE What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Kisses him Thy lips are warm. First Watchman [Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIET Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! Snatching ROMEO's dagger This is thy sheath; Stabs herself there rust, and let me die. Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS PAGE This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR Second Watchman Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE Third Watchman Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman A great suspicion: stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants PRINCE What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others CAPULET What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra Shakespeare homepage | Antony and Cleopatra | Entire play 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 glow'd 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, 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. MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome. MARK 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.' MARK 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! MARK 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; when such a mutual pair Embracing 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. MARK ANTONY But stirr'd 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. MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing 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 To-night 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 MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with their 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 to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Another room. Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the 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. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 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 a worky-day 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 worst follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold 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'ld do't! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony. CHARMIAN Not he; the queen. Enter CLEOPATRA CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord? DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam? CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches. CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us. Exeunt Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius? Messenger Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. MARK ANTONY Well, what worst? Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller. MARK 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 flatter'd. 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-- MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,-- Messenger O, my lord! MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she is call'd 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 MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there! First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one? Second Attendant He stays upon your will. MARK ANTONY Let him appear. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Or lose myself in dotage. Enter another Messenger What are you? Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead. MARK ANTONY Where died she? Second Messenger In Sicyon: Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. Gives a letter MARK ANTONY Forbear me. Exit Second Messenger There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: What our contempt 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! Re-enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's your pleasure, sir? MARK ANTONY I must with haste from hence. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY I must be gone. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY She is cunning past man's thought. Exit ALEXAS DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Would I had never seen her. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Sir? MARK ANTONY Fulvia is dead. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Fulvia! MARK ANTONY Dead. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY The business she hath broached in the state Cannot endure my absence. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. MARK 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 link'd 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' the 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I shall do't. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Another room. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS 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 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 MARK ANTONY CLEOPATRA I am sick and sullen. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Now, my dearest queen,-- CLEOPATRA Pray you, stand further from me. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The gods best know,-- CLEOPATRA O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd! yet at the first I saw the treasons planted. MARK 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! MARK 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 turn'd the greatest liar. MARK ANTONY How now, lady! CLEOPATRA I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know There were a heart in Egypt. MARK 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 condemn'd 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? MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice. By the fire That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war As thou affect'st. CLEOPATRA Cut my lace, Charmian, come; But let it be: I am quickly ill, and well, So Antony loves. MARK 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 Life perfect honour. MARK ANTONY You'll heat my blood: no more. CLEOPATRA You can do better yet; but this is meetly. MARK 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. MARK 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. MARK 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 strew'd before your feet! MARK ANTONY Let us go. Come; Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away! Exeunt SCENE IV. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter, LEPIDUS, and their Train OCTAVIUS 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 man-like 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 enow 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let us 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 soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 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 fear'd Caesar: to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I should have known no less. It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he which is was wish'd until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once Wast 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'st; 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 lank'd not. LEPIDUS 'Tis pity of him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field; and to that end Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. LEPIDUS To-morrow, Caesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able To front this present time. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Doubt not, sir; I knew it for my bond. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's 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 unseminar'd, 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 movest? 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 Phoebus' 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, from OCTAVIUS CAESAR 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 kiss'd,--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 neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. CLEOPATRA What, was he sad or merry? ALEXAS Like to the time o' the 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 seem'd 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. 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 the 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 flatter'd; 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 dulness! 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 further travel. POMPEY I could have given less matter A better ear. Menas, I did not think This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd 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 warr'd 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. The house of LEPIDUS. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS LEPIDUS Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. DOMITIUS 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 to-day. LEPIDUS 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in't. LEPIDUS But small to greater matters must give way. DOMITIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and VENTIDIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS And yonder, Caesar. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MECAENAS, and AGRIPPA MARK ANTONY If we compose well here, to Parthia: Hark, Ventidius. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I do not know, Mecaenas; 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 the matter. MARK ANTONY 'Tis spoken well. Were we before our armies, and to fight. I should do thus. Flourish OCTAVIUS CAESAR Welcome to Rome. MARK ANTONY Thank you. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Sit. MARK ANTONY Sit, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, then. MARK ANTONY I learn, you take things ill which are not so, Or being, concern you not. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing or a little, I Should say myself offended, and with you Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. MARK ANTONY My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY How intend you, practised? OCTAVIUS CAESAR You may be pleased to catch at mine intent By what did here befal me. Your wife and brother Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. MARK 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' the world is yours; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Sir, He fell upon me ere admitted: then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i' the morning: but next day I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question wipe him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. LEPIDUS Soft, Caesar! MARK ANTONY No, Lepidus, let him speak: The honour is sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it. But, on, Caesar; The article of my oath. OCTAVIUS CAESAR To lend me arms and aid when I required them; The which you both denied. MARK ANTONY Neglected, rather; And then when poison'd 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. MECAENAS 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, Mecaenas. DOMITIUS 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. MARK ANTONY Thou art a soldier only: speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. MARK ANTONY You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Go to, then; your considerate stone. OCTAVIUS 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 stanch, from edge to edge O' the world I would pursue it. AGRIPPA Give me leave, Caesar,-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR Speak, Agrippa. AGRIPPA Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admired Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Say not so, Agrippa: If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserved of rashness. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Will Caesar speak? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. MARK ANTONY What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' To make this good? OCTAVIUS CAESAR The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. MARK 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR There is 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! MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Where lies he? OCTAVIUS CAESAR About the mount Misenum. MARK ANTONY What is his strength by land? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Great and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. MARK 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 talk'd of. OCTAVIUS CAESAR With most gladness: And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I'll lead you. MARK ANTONY Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. LEPIDUS Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, and LEPIDUS MECAENAS Welcome from Egypt, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! AGRIPPA Good Enobarbus! MECAENAS We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed well by 't in Egypt. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, and made the night light with drinking. MECAENAS Eight wild-boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is this true? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting. MECAENAS She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I will tell you. The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd 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 beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. AGRIPPA O, rare for Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the 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' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. AGRIPPA Rare Egyptian! DOMITIUS 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 barber'd 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 plough'd her, and she cropp'd. DOMITIUS 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, power breathe forth. MECAENAS Now Antony must leave her utterly. DOMITIUS 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. MECAENAS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter MARK ANTONY, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them, and Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 the rule. Good night, dear lady. Good night, sir. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Good night. Exeunt OCTAVIUS CAESAR and OCTAVIA Enter Soothsayer MARK ANTONY Now, sirrah; you do wish yourself in Egypt? Soothsayer Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! MARK 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. MARK 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 demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel Becomes a fear, as being o'erpower'd: therefore Make space enough between you. MARK 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. MARK 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 nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, I' the 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. The same. A street. Enter LEPIDUS, MECAENAS, 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. MECAENAS 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. MECAENAS AGRIPPA Sir, good success! LEPIDUS Farewell. Exeunt SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attendants The music, ho! Enter MARDIAN 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 play'd As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? MARDIAN As well as I can, madam. CLEOPATRA And when good will is show'd, 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-finn'd 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 wager'd 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 laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd 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 a Messenger O, from Italy Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Messenger Madam, madam,-- CLEOPATRA Antonius 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 lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Messenger First, madam, he is 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 crown'd 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 Thou'rt 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' the 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? Hence, Strikes him again 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 whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in lingering 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. Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger 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. Bid you Alexas To MARDIAN 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, OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MECAENAS, with Soldiers marching POMPEY Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And we shall talk before we fight. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most meet That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent; Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers and 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 burthen The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Take your time. MARK 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'er-count thee. POMPEY At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR There's the point. MARK ANTONY Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embraced. OCTAVIUS 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 unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targes undinted. OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY 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. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither; For I have gain'd by 't. OCTAVIUS 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 seal'd between us. OCTAVIUS CAESAR That's the next to do. POMPEY We'll feast each other ere we part; and let's Draw lots who shall begin. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY You have heard much. POMPEY I have fair meanings, sir. MARK ANTONY And fair words to them. POMPEY Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-- DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No more of that: he did so. POMPEY What, I pray you? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. POMPEY I know thee now: how farest thou, soldier? DOMITIUS 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 behavior. DOMITIUS 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR MARK ANTONY LEPIDUS Show us the way, sir. POMPEY Come. Exeunt all but MENAS and ENOBARBUS MENAS [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.--You and I have known, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS At sea, I think. MENAS We have, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS You have done well by water. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. MENAS And you by land. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But there is never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS No slander; they steal hearts. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS If he do, sure, he cannot weep't back again. MENAS You've said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here: pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar's sister is called Octavia. MENAS True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS Pray ye, sir? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Tis true. MENAS Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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? DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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, off Misenum. Music plays. 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' the 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 the drink. First Servant But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. Second Servant Why, this 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MECAENAS, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other captains MARK ANTONY [To OCTAVIUS CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know, By the 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. MARK ANTONY Ay, Lepidus. LEPIDUS Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. MARK 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. DOMITIUS 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 [Aside to POMPEY] 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? MARK 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 its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. LEPIDUS What colour is it of? MARK ANTONY Of it own colour too. LEPIDUS 'Tis a strange serpent. MARK ANTONY 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Will this description satisfy him? MARK 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 call'd 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. The matter? Rises, and walks aside 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. MARK ANTONY These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. MENAS Wilt thou be lord of all the world? POMPEY What say'st thou? MENAS Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY How should that be? MENAS But entertain it, And, though thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. POMPEY Hast thou drunk well? MENAS Now, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou darest be, the earthly Jove: Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt ha'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 there is thine. POMPEY Ah, this thou shouldst have done, And not have spoke on't! In me 'tis villany; 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 pall'd fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. POMPEY This health to Lepidus! MARK ANTONY Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Here's to thee, Menas! MENAS Enobarbus, welcome! POMPEY Fill till the cup be hid. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS There's a strong fellow, Menas. Pointing to the Attendant who carries off LEPIDUS MENAS Why? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A' bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS The third part, then, is drunk: would it were all, That it might go on wheels! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Drink thou; increase the reels. MENAS Come. POMPEY This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. MARK ANTONY It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho? Here is to Caesar! OCTAVIUS CAESAR I could well forbear't. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. MARK ANTONY Be a child o' the time. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Possess it, I'll make answer: But I had rather fast from all four days Than drink so much in one. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ha, my brave emperor! To MARK ANTONY Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? POMPEY Let's ha't, good soldier. MARK ANTONY Come, let's all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. DOMITIUS 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 bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. Music plays. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand THE SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown'd, With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round! OCTAVIUS 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 Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. Good Antony, your hand. POMPEY I'll try you on the shore. MARK 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Take heed you fall not. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and MENAS 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 hang'd, sound out! Sound a flourish, with drums DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Ho! says a' There's my cap. MENAS Ho! 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 the minute, lost his favour. Who does i' the 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' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter AGRIPPA at one door, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS at another AGRIPPA What, are the brothers parted? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS They have dispatch'd 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 green sickness. AGRIPPA 'Tis a noble Lepidus. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar! AGRIPPA Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Caesar? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. AGRIPPA What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Spake you of Caesar? How! the non-pareil! AGRIPPA O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar:' go no further. AGRIPPA Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony: Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho! His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. AGRIPPA Both he loves. DOMITIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, MARK ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY No further, sir. OCTAVIUS 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 band 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 cherish'd. MARK ANTONY Make me not offended In your distrust. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have said. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS 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! MARK 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-- OCTAVIUS CAESAR What, Octavia? OCTAVIA I'll tell you in your ear. MARK 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 full of tide, And neither way inclines. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in 's face. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. AGRIPPA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring; and he wept When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound he wail'd, Believe't, till I wept too. OCTAVIUS CAESAR No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Adieu; be happy! LEPIDUS Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Farewell, fa rewell! Kisses OCTAVIA MARK ANTONY Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt SCENE III. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA Where is the fellow? ALEXAS Half afeard to come. CLEOPATRA Go to, go to. Enter the 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 look'd 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 MARK ANTONY's house. Enter MARK ANTONY and OCTAVIA MARK 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 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. MARK 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 mean time, 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. MARK 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. The same. Another room. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How now, friend Eros! EROS There's strange news come, sir. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What, man? EROS Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS 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 murder'd Pompey. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Our great navy's rigg'd. EROS For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS 'Twill be naught: But let it be. Bring me to Antony. EROS Come, sir. Exeunt SCENE VI. Rome. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's house. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS OCTAVIUS CAESAR Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more, In Alexandria: here's the manner of 't: I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 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. MECAENAS This in the public eye? OCTAVIUS CAESAR I' the common show-place, where they exercise. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings: Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia. He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: she In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience, As 'tis reported, so. MECAENAS Let Rome be thus Inform'd. AGRIPPA Who, queasy with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. OCTAVIUS CAESAR The people know it; and have now received His accusations. AGRIPPA Who does he accuse? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Caesar: and that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him His part o' the 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 answer'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR 'Tis done already, and the 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 conquer'd, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I Demand the like. MECAENAS He'll never yield to that. OCTAVIUS 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway! OCTAVIA You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Why have you stol'n 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 the 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 constrain'd, but did On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. OCTAVIA Do not say so, my lord. OCTAVIUS CAESAR I have eyes upon him, And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? OCTAVIA My lord, in Athens. OCTAVIUS 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' the earth for war; he hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; King Malchus 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 do afflict each other! OCTAVIUS 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 unbewail'd 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 them ministers Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. AGRIPPA Welcome, lady. MECAENAS Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the 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? OCTAVIUS CAESAR Most certain. Sister, welcome: pray you, Be ever known to patience: my dear'st sister! Exeunt SCENE VII. Near Actium. MARK ANTONY's camp. Enter CLEOPATRA and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS CLEOPATRA I will be even with thee, doubt it not. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS But why, why, why? CLEOPATRA Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, And say'st it is not fit. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Well, is it, is it? CLEOPATRA If not denounced against us, why should not we Be there in person? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 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? DOMITIUS 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' the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will Appear there for a man. Speak not against it: I will not stay behind. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Nay, I have done. Here comes the emperor. Enter MARK ANTONY and CANIDIUS MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK ANTONY For that he dares us to't. DOMITIUS 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, be shakes off; And so should you. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Your ships are not well mann'd; Your mariners are muleters, reapers, people Ingross'd 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. MARK ANTONY By sea, by sea. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth most consist Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, From firm security. MARK ANTONY I'll fight at sea. CLEOPATRA I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. MARK ANTONY Our overplus of shipping will we burn; And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium Beat the 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. MARK ANTONY Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange that 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 the Egyptians And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. MARK ANTONY Well, well: away! Exeunt MARK ANTONY, QUEEN CLEOPATRA, and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Soldier By Hercules, I think I am i' the 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and TAURUS, with his army, marching OCTAVIUS CAESAR Taurus! TAURUS My lord? OCTAVIUS 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 MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Set we our squadrons on yond side o' the 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 marcheth with his land army one way over the stage; and TAURUS, the lieutenant of OCTAVIUS CAESAR, the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight Alarum. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Naught, naught all, naught! I can behold no longer: The 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! DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS What's thy passion! SCARUS The greater cantle of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS How appears the fight? SCARUS On our side like the token'd pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,-- Whom leprosy o'ertake!--i' the midst o' the fight, When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS That I beheld: Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not Endure a further view. SCARUS She once being loof'd, 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. DOMITIUS 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! DOMITIUS 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. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt SCENE XI. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY with Attendants MARK 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. MARK 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 follow'd 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 and IRAS; EROS following 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! MARK ANTONY No, no, no, no, no. EROS See you here, sir? MARK ANTONY O fie, fie, fie! CHARMIAN Madam! IRAS Madam, O good empress! EROS Sir, sir,-- MARK 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 practise 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 him: O! EROS Most noble sir, arise; the queen approaches: Her head's declined, and death will seize her, but Your comfort makes the rescue. MARK ANTONY I have offended reputation, A most unnoble swerving. EROS Sir, the queen. MARK 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 'Stroy'd in dishonour. CLEOPATRA O my lord, my lord, Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought You would have follow'd. MARK ANTONY Egypt, thou knew'st too well My heart was to thy rudder tied by the 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! MARK 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' the world play'd 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! MARK 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. Egypt. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him appear that's come from Antony. Know you him? DOLABELLA Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither He sends so poor a pinion off his wing, Which had superfluous kings for messengers Not many moons gone by. Enter EUPHRONIUS, ambassador from MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Approach, and speak. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Be't so: declare thine office. EUPHRONIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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. EUPHRONIUS Fortune pursue thee! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS To THYREUS 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, Thyreus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. THYREUS Caesar, I go. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. THYREUS Caesar, I shall. Exeunt SCENE XIII. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS CLEOPATRA What shall we do, Enobarbus? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Think, and die. CLEOPATRA Is Antony or we in fault for this? DOMITIUS 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 nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The meered question: 'twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. CLEOPATRA Prithee, peace. Enter MARK ANTONY with EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador MARK ANTONY Is that his answer? EUPHRONIUS Ay, my lord. MARK ANTONY The queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up. EUPHRONIUS He says so. MARK 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? MARK 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' the 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 MARK ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the 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 an Attendant Attendant A messenger from CAESAR. CLEOPATRA What, no more ceremony? See, my women! Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit Attendant DOMITIUS 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 fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer And earns a place i' the story. Enter THYREUS CLEOPATRA Caesar's will? THYREUS Hear it apart. CLEOPATRA None but friends: say boldly. THYREUS So, haply, are they friends to Antony. DOMITIUS 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. THYREUS So. Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Caesar. CLEOPATRA Go on: right royal. THYREUS He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. CLEOPATRA O! THYREUS 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 conquer'd merely. DOMITIUS 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 THYREUS 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 shrowd, The universal landlord. CLEOPATRA What's your name? THYREUS My name is Thyreus. CLEOPATRA Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this: in deputation I kiss his conquering 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. THYREUS '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, Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Re-enter MARK ANTONY and DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS MARK ANTONY Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow? THYREUS One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] You will be whipp'd. MARK 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 Attendants Take hence this Jack, and whip him. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside] 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp Than with an old one dying. MARK 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. THYREUS Mark Antony! MARK ANTONY Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again: this Jack of Caesar's shall Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt Attendants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew you: ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd 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,-- MARK ANTONY You have been a boggler ever: But when we in our viciousness grow hard-- O misery on't!--the wise gods seel 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? MARK ANTONY I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar's trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd 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? MARK 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 halter'd neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him. Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS Is he whipp'd? First Attendant Soundly, my lord. MARK ANTONY Cried he? and begg'd a' pardon? First Attendant He did ask favour. MARK 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 whipp'd 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 the 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, begone! Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA Have you done yet? MARK ANTONY Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! CLEOPATRA I must stay his time. MARK ANTONY To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? CLEOPATRA Not know me yet? MARK 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! MARK ANTONY I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threatening 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! MARK ANTONY I will be treble-sinew'd, 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 birth-day: I had thought to have held it poor: but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. MARK ANTONY We will yet do well. CLEOPATRA Call all his noble captains to my lord. MARK ANTONY Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS 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. Before Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MECAENAS, with his Army; OCTAVIUS CAESAR reading a letter OCTAVIUS CAESAR He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp'd 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. MECAENAS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow 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 earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt SCENE II. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace. Enter MARK ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, with others MARK ANTONY He will not fight with me, Domitius. DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No. MARK ANTONY Why should he not? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. MARK ANTONY To-morrow, 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? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' MARK ANTONY Well said; come on. Call forth my household servants: let's to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Enter three or four Servitors Give me thy hand, Thou hast 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 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What means this? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow shoots Out of the mind. MARK ANTONY And thou art honest too. I wish I could be made so many men, And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony, that I might do you service So good as you have done. All The gods forbid! MARK ANTONY Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me As when mine empire was your fellow too, And suffer'd my command. CLEOPATRA [Aside to DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. MARK ANTONY Tend me to-night; May be it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 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 to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! DOMITIUS 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. MARK 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 to-morrow; 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. The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers to their guard First Soldier Brother, good night: to-morrow 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 Fourth Soldier Here we: and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. Third Soldier 'Tis a brave army, And full of purpose. Music of the hautboys as under the stage Fourth Soldier Peace! what noise? First Soldier List, list! Second Soldier Hark! First Soldier Music i' the 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 [Speaking together] 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. The same. A room in the palace. Enter MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and others attending MARK ANTONY Eros! mine armour, Eros! CLEOPATRA Sleep a little. MARK ANTONY No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine armour, Eros! Enter EROS with armour Come good fellow, put mine iron on: If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her: come. CLEOPATRA Nay, I'll help too. What's this for? MARK 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. MARK 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? MARK 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 to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou shouldst see A workman in't. Enter an armed Soldier 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. Soldier A thousand, sir, Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, And at the port expect you. Shout. Trumpets flourish Enter Captains and Soldiers Captain The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. All Good morrow, general. MARK 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: rebukeable Kisses her And worthy shameful cheque 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 MARK 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. Alexandria. MARK ANTONY's camp. Trumpets sound. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS; a Soldier meeting them Soldier The gods make this a happy day to Antony! MARK ANTONY Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd 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 Follow'd thy heels. MARK 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.' MARK ANTONY What say'st thou? Soldier Sir, He is with Caesar. EROS Sir, his chests and treasure He has not with him. MARK ANTONY Is he gone? Soldier Most certain. MARK 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Flourish. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, with DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, and others OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is Antony be took alive; Make it so known. AGRIPPA Caesar, I shall. Exit OCTAVIUS CAESAR The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger Messenger Antony Is come into the field. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Go charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. Exeunt all but DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry on Affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains Caesar hath hang'd 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. DOMITIUS 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 DOMITIUS 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 MARK 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. MARK ANTONY Thou bleed'st apace. SCARUS I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY I will reward thee Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. SCARUS I'll halt after. Exeunt SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter MARK ANTONY, in a march; SCARUS, with others MARK ANTONY We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see 's, we'll spill the blood That has to-day 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 honour'd gashes whole. To SCARUS Give me thy hand Enter CLEOPATRA, attended To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee. To CLEOPATRA O thou day o' the world, Chain mine arm'd 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, comest thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? MARK ANTONY My 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 to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. CLEOPATRA I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. MARK ANTONY He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd 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 rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach. Exeunt SCENE IX. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Sentinels at their post First Soldier If we be not relieved within this hour, We must return to the court of guard: the night Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. Second Soldier This last day was A shrewd one to's. Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS O, bear me witness, night,-- Third Soldier What man is this? Second Soldier Stand close, and list him. DOMITIUS 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! First Soldier Enobarbus! Third Soldier Peace! Hark further. DOMITIUS 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 Second Soldier Let's speak To him. First Soldier Let's hear him, for the things he speaks May concern Caesar. Third Soldier Let's do so. But he sleeps. First Soldier Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleep. Second Soldier Go we to him. Third Soldier Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. Second Soldier Hear you, sir? First Soldier The hand of death hath raught him. Drums afar off Hark! the drums Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour Is fully out. Third Soldier Come on, then; He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body SCENE X. Between the two camps. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS, with their Army MARK ANTONY Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. SCARUS For both, my lord. MARK ANTONY I would they'ld fight i' the fire or i' the air; We'ld 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 same. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, and his Army OCTAVIUS 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 same. Enter MARK ANTONY and SCARUS MARK ANTONY Yet they are not join'd: 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 augurers 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. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight Re-enter MARK ANTONY MARK 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-turn'd 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; begone. 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 spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd, That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm,-- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,-- Like a right gipsy, 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? MARK ANTONY Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, for doits; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well 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' the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die: To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot; she dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit SCENE XIII. Alexandria. Cleopatra's 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 emboss'd. CHARMIAN To the 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 the 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 the monument! Exeunt SCENE XIV. The same. Another room. Enter MARK ANTONY and EROS MARK ANTONY Eros, thou yet behold'st me? EROS Ay, noble lord. MARK ANTONY Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendent 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, MARK 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. MARK 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 annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,--she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd 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 robb'd me of my sword. MARDIAN No, Antony; My mistress loved thee, and her fortunes mingled With thine entirely. MARK ANTONY Hence, saucy eunuch; peace! She hath betray'd 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 render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. MARK ANTONY Dead, then? MARDIAN Dead. MARK ANTONY Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done, And we must sleep. To MARDIAN That thou depart'st hence safe, Does pay thy labour richly; go. Exit MARDIAN Off, pluck off: The seven-fold 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! Re-enter EROS EROS What would my lord? MARK ANTONY Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd 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 The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strikest 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? MARK ANTONY Eros, Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued? EROS I would not see't. MARK 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! MARK ANTONY When I did make thee free, sworest 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. MARK ANTONY Lo thee! Turning from him EROS My sword is drawn. MARK 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. MARK ANTONY 'Tis said, man; and farewell. EROS Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? MARK ANTONY Now, Eros. EROS Why, there then: thus I do escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Kills himself MARK 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 learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! Enter DERCETAS and Guard First Guard What's the noise? MARK ANTONY I have done my work in, friends: O, make an end Of what I have begun. Second Guard The star is fall'n. First Guard And time is at his period. All Alas, and woe! MARK ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead. First Guard Not I. Second Guard Nor I. Third Guard Nor any one. Exeunt Guard DERCETAS 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? DERCETAS There, Diomed there. DIOMEDES Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS MARK 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. MARK ANTONY When did she send thee? DIOMEDES Now, my lord. MARK ANTONY Where is she? DIOMEDES Lock'd 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. MARK 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 MARK ANTONY MARK 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! MARK 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 MARK ANTONY SCENE XV. The same. 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, Proportion'd 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' the other side your monument; His guard have brought him thither. Enter, below, MARK ANTONY, borne by the Guard CLEOPATRA O sun, Burn the great sphere thou movest in! darkling stand The varying shore o' the world. O Antony, Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. MARK ANTONY Peace! Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. CLEOPATRA So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! MARK ANTONY I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay up thy lips. CLEOPATRA I dare not, dear,-- Dear my lord, pardon,--I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall Be brooch'd 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. MARK 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-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,-- Wishes were ever fools,--O, come, come, come; They heave MARK 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! MARK 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 housewife Fortune break her wheel, Provoked by my offence. MARK ANTONY One word, sweet queen: Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! CLEOPATRA They do not go together. MARK ANTONY Gentle, hear me: None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. CLEOPATRA My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Caesar. MARK 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' the world, The noblest; and do now not basely die, Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman,--a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. 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, MARK ANTONY dies The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: 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 stol'n our jewel. All's but naught; Patience is scottish, 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; those above bearing off MARK ANTONY's body ACT V SCENE I. Alexandria. OCTAVIUS CAESAR's camp. Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MECAENAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others, his council of war OCTAVIUS 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 DERCETAS, with the sword of MARK ANTONY OCTAVIUS CAESAR Wherefore is that? and what art thou that darest Appear thus to us? DERCETAS I am call'd Dercetas; 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR What is't thou say'st? DERCETAS I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. OCTAVIUS 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. DERCETAS 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 robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. OCTAVIUS 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. MECAENAS 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 touch'd. MECAENAS When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O Antony! I have follow'd 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-- But I will tell you at some meeter season: Enter an Egyptian 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. OCTAVIUS 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 live To be ungentle. Egyptian So the gods preserve thee! Exit OCTAVIUS 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 OCTAVIUS CAESAR Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS Where's Dolabella, To second Proculeius? All Dolabella! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employ'd: 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 dug, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS and Soldiers PROCULEIUS Caesar sends greeting 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 conquer'd 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're fall'n 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 kneel'd 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' the face. PROCULEIUS This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied Of him that caused it. GALLUS You see how easily she may be surprised: Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard ascend the monument by a ladder placed against a window, and, having descended, come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates To PROCULEIUS and the Guard Guard her till Caesar come. Exit 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 betray'd. CLEOPATRA What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? PROCULEIUS Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty by The 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 Worthy 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 pinion'd 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 dream'd there was an Emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA If it might please ye,-- 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 rear'd 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 show'd his back above The element they lived in: in his livery Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were As plates dropp'd from his pocket. DOLABELLA Cleopatra! CLEOPATRA Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? DOLABELLA Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were, one such, It's past the size of dreaming: nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine And 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't. Flourish, and shout within, 'Make way there: Octavius Caesar!' Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MECAENAS, SELEUCUS, and others of his Train OCTAVIUS CAESAR Which is the Queen of Egypt? DOLABELLA It is the emperor, madam. CLEOPATRA kneels OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS 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' the 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. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted. Where's 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. CLEOPATRA See, Caesar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! 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! OCTAVIUS 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 the ashes of my chance: wert thou a man, Thou wouldst have mercy on me. OCTAVIUS 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Cleopatra, Not what you have reserved, nor what acknowledged, Put we i' the 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 cheer'd; 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! OCTAVIUS CAESAR Not so. Adieu. Flourish. Exeunt OCTAVIUS 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 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. Re-enter DOLABELLA DOLABELLA Where is 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 perform'd 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, shalt 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 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' the posture of a whore. IRAS O the good gods! CLEOPATRA Nay, that's certain. IRAS I'll never see 't; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. CLEOPATRA Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents. Re-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. Wherefore's this noise? Exit IRAS. A noise within Enter a Guardsman Guard 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. Re-enter Guardsman, with Clown bringing in a basket Guard 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 Rememberest 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' the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. CLEOPATRA Get thee hence; farewell. Clown I wish you all joy of the worm. Setting down his 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 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' the worm. Exit Re-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 unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; And golden Phoebus never be beheld Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in First Guard Where is 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! Dies Re-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 perform'd the dreaded act which thou So sought'st to hinder. Within 'A way there, a way for Caesar!' Re-enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR and all his train marching DOLABELLA O sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Bravest at the last, She levell'd 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. OCTAVIUS CAESAR Poison'd, 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 dropp'd. OCTAVIUS CAESAR O noble weakness! If they had swallow'd 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 the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. OCTAVIUS 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 The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Shakespeare homepage | Hamlet | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle. FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO BERNARDO Who's there? FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. BERNARDO Long live the king! FRANCISCO Bernardo? BERNARDO He. FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour. BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard? FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring. BERNARDO Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there? Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS HORATIO Friends to this ground. MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane. FRANCISCO Give you good night. MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath relieved you? FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place. Give you good night. Exit MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo! BERNARDO Say, What, is Horatio there? HORATIO A piece of him. BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus. MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO Sit down awhile; And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story What we have two nights seen. HORATIO Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. BERNARDO Last night of all, When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one,-- Enter Ghost MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead. MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. BERNARDO 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. BERNARDO See, it stalks away! HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak! Exit Ghost MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer. BERNARDO 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 the 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, Dared 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 seized 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 covenant, 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 romage in the land. BERNARDO 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.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! Re-enter Ghost 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: Cock crows 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! Stop it, Marcellus. MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan? HORATIO Do, if it will not stand. BERNARDO 'Tis here! HORATIO 'Tis here! MARCELLUS 'Tis gone! Exit Ghost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. BERNARDO 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, The 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 dares 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 to-night Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt SCENE II. A room of state in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,-- With an auspicious and a dropping eye, With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-- Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along. For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with the 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, Voltimand, 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 delated articles allow. Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty. CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND In that and all things will we show our duty. KING CLAUDIUS We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. Exeunt VOLTIMAND 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 loose 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 My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation, Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. KING CLAUDIUS Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius? LORD 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS How is it that the clouds still hang on you? HAMLET Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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 CLAUDIUS '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 persever 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 to-day, '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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse the heavens all 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! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah 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 follow'd 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 my 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 BERNARDO 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 mine 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 pray thee, 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 baked 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 awhile 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 Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 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, distilled 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'd. HAMLET Did you not speak to it? HORATIO My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its 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 to-night? MARCELLUS BERNARDO We do, my lord. HAMLET Arm'd, say you? MARCELLUS BERNARDO Arm'd, my lord. HAMLET From top to toe? MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 amazed you. HAMLET Very like, very like. Stay'd it long? HORATIO While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. MARCELLUS BERNARDO 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 to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again. HORATIO I warrant 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 to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All Our duty to your honour. HAMLET Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. Exeunt all but HAMLET My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. Exit SCENE III. A room in Polonius' 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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed 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 disclosed, 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 the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede. 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. LORD 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 thee! And these few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are 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 ownself 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. 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 LORD POLONIUS What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you? OPHELIA So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. LORD 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. LORD 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. LORD 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 importuned me with love In honourable fashion. LORD 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. LORD 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 somewhat 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. HAMLET No, it is struck. HORATIO Indeed? I heard it not: then it 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 to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 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: But 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 traduced 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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners, that these men, Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-- Their 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 eale 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 comest 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 canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath oped 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 I will follow it. HORATIO Do not, my lord. HAMLET Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life in 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 ruled; 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. Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 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. Another part of the platform. Enter GHOST and HAMLET HAMLET Where 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 sulphurous 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 confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged 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 roots 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 abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. HAMLET O my prophetic soul! My 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 moved, 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 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, Unhousel'd, 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 pursuest 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! Hamlet, remember me. Exit HAMLET O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, 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'm 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. MARCELLUS HORATIO [Within] My lord, my lord,-- MARCELLUS [Within] Lord Hamlet,-- HORATIO [Within] Heaven secure him! HAMLET So be it! HORATIO [Within] Hillo, 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 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 has business and desire, Such as it is; and for mine 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 to-night. HORATIO 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 [Beneath] Swear. HAMLET Ah, ha, boy! say'st 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' the 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 headshake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an 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! They swear So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to 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' house. Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO LORD POLONIUS Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. REYNALDO I will, my lord. LORD POLONIUS You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, Before you visit him, to make inquire Of his behavior. REYNALDO My lord, I did intend it. LORD POLONIUS Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire 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. 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. LORD POLONIUS Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing: you may go so far. REYNALDO My lord, that would dishonour him. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS Wherefore should you do this? REYNALDO Ay, my lord, I would know that. LORD POLONIUS Marry, sir, here's my drift; And I believe, it is a fetch of wit: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the 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 assured 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. 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.' LORD POLONIUS At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry; He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t' other day, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say, There was a' 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. LORD POLONIUS God be wi' you; fare you well. REYNALDO Good my lord! LORD POLONIUS Observe his inclination in yourself. REYNALDO I shall, my lord. LORD POLONIUS And let him ply his music. REYNALDO Well, my lord. LORD POLONIUS Farewell! Exit REYNALDO Enter OPHELIA How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? OPHELIA O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! LORD POLONIUS With what, i' the name of God? OPHELIA My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 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. LORD POLONIUS Mad for thy love? OPHELIA My lord, I do not know; But truly, I do fear it. LORD 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 raised 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 helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. LORD 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 fetters and denied His access to me. LORD POLONIUS That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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 call it, Sith nor the 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 the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, being of so young days brought up with him, And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior, 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 GERTRUDE 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 But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. KING CLAUDIUS Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 practises Pleasant and helpful to him! QUEEN GERTRUDE Ay, amen! Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. KING CLAUDIUS Thou still hast been the father of good news. LORD POLONIUS Have I, my lord? I assure 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 used to do, that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. KING CLAUDIUS O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. LORD POLONIUS Give first admittance to the ambassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. KING CLAUDIUS Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. Exit POLONIUS He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. QUEEN GERTRUDE I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. KING CLAUDIUS Well, we shall sift him. Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS Welcome, my good friends! Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? VOLTIMAND 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 grieved, 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 the 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, Giving 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 CLAUDIUS It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time well 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 VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS LORD 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 GERTRUDE More matter, with less art. LORD 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 while 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. Thus: Reads 'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.' QUEEN GERTRUDE Came this from Hamlet to her? LORD 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 shown me, And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means and place, All given to mine ear. KING CLAUDIUS But how hath she Received his love? LORD POLONIUS What do you think of me? KING CLAUDIUS As of a man faithful and honourable. LORD POLONIUS I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing-- As I perceived 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 mourn for. KING CLAUDIUS Do you think 'tis this? QUEEN GERTRUDE It may be, very likely. LORD POLONIUS Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that-- That I have positively said 'Tis so,' When it proved otherwise? KING CLAUDIUS Not that I know. LORD POLONIUS [Pointing to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise: If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. KING CLAUDIUS How may we try it further? LORD POLONIUS You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby. QUEEN GERTRUDE So he does indeed. LORD 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 CLAUDIUS We will try it. QUEEN GERTRUDE But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. LORD POLONIUS Away, I do beseech you, both away: I'll board him presently. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants Enter HAMLET, reading O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet? HAMLET Well, God-a-mercy. LORD POLONIUS Do you know me, my lord? HAMLET Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. LORD POLONIUS Not I, my lord. HAMLET Then I would you were so honest a man. LORD POLONIUS Honest, my lord! HAMLET Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. LORD POLONIUS That's very true, my lord. HAMLET For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? LORD POLONIUS I have, my lord. HAMLET Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't. LORD POLONIUS [Aside] How say you by that? 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. LORD POLONIUS What is the matter, my lord? HAMLET Between who? LORD POLONIUS I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. HAMLET Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue 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 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward. LORD 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. LORD 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 any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life. LORD POLONIUS Fare you well, my lord. HAMLET These tedious old fools! Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN LORD 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' the 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 nut shell 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 outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. ROSENCRANTZ 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, any thing, 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 [Aside 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 a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 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 humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the 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 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, are they not. HAMLET How comes it? do they grow rusty? ROSENCRANTZ Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, sir, an aery 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 mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 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 then: 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 LORD 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: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. LORD 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,-- LORD POLONIUS The actors are come hither, my lord. HAMLET Buz, buz! LORD POLONIUS Upon mine honour,-- HAMLET Then came each actor on his ass,-- LORD 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! LORD POLONIUS What a treasure had he, my lord? HAMLET Why, 'One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.' LORD POLONIUS [Aside] Still on my daughter. HAMLET Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? LORD POLONIUS If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. HAMLET Nay, that follows not. LORD 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 valenced since I saw thee last: comest 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 apiece 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 any thing 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 judgments 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 indict 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 the 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, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damned light To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. LORD 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 The 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' the 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 forged 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!' LORD 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?' LORD POLONIUS That's good; 'mobled queen' is good. First Player 'Run barefoot up and down, threatening 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'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 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.' LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more. HAMLET 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert. HAMLET God's bodykins, 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. LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs. HAMLET Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Exit 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 to-morrow 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 My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord! HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi' ye; Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN 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 wann'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' the 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! O, 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 To 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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. LORD POLONIUS 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties To hear and see the matter. KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclined. 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 CLAUDIUS 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 behaved, If 't be the affliction of his love or no That thus he suffers for. QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE LORD 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 proved--that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The devil himself. KING CLAUDIUS [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 burthen! LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS 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 despised 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 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 composed 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 no where 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 has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 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; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed 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, To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS KING CLAUDIUS 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? LORD 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 placed, 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 CLAUDIUS It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt SCENE II. A hall in the castle. Enter HAMLET and 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, the 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 dumbshows 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 o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing 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 reformed 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 mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villanous, 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! I will the king hear this piece of work? LORD POLONIUS And the queen too, and that presently. HAMLET Bid the players make haste. Exit POLONIUS Will you two help to hasten them? ROSENCRANTZ 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 coped 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 blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, 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 to-night 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 seest that act afoot, 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 judgments 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 CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. HAMLET No, nor mine now. To POLONIUS My lord, you played once i' the university, you say? LORD POLONIUS That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. HAMLET What did you enact? LORD POLONIUS I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 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 GERTRUDE Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. HAMLET No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. LORD POLONIUS [To KING CLAUDIUS] 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 these 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.' Hautboys play. 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, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath 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 he 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. Exit HAMLET Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? OPHELIA 'Tis brief, my lord. HAMLET As woman's love. Enter two Players, King and 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 sized, 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, beloved; 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 advanced 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 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 GERTRUDE The lady protests too much, methinks. HAMLET O, but she'll keep her word. KING CLAUDIUS Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't? HAMLET No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world. KING CLAUDIUS What do you call the play? HAMLET The Mouse-trap. 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 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung. Enter LUCIANUS This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. OPHELIA You are as good as a 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 must take 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' the garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in 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 GERTRUDE How fares my lord? LORD POLONIUS Give o'er the play. KING CLAUDIUS Give me some light: away! All Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO HAMLET Why, let the stricken 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, perdy. Come, some music! Re-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 his doctor; for, 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 behavior hath struck her into amazement and admiration. HAMLET O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. 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 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, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb is something musty. Re-enter 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 lingers 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, yet you cannot play upon me. Enter POLONIUS God bless you, sir! LORD 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? LORD POLONIUS By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. LORD POLONIUS It is backed like a weasel. HAMLET Or like a whale? LORD POLONIUS Very like a whale. HAMLET Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. LORD POLONIUS I will say so. HAMLET By and by is easily said. Exit POLONIUS 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 soever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit SCENE III. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS 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 dangerous 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 mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. KING CLAUDIUS Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN We will haste us. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Enter POLONIUS LORD POLONIUS My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; and 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 CLAUDIUS 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 two-fold 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 the 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 can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn 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 revenged. 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 revenged, 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 the 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 KING CLAUDIUS [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit SCENE IV. The Queen's closet. Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS LORD 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 sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him. HAMLET [Within] Mother, mother, mother! QUEEN GERTRUDE I'll warrant you, Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. POLONIUS hides behind the arras Enter HAMLET HAMLET Now, mother, what's the matter? QUEEN GERTRUDE Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. HAMLET Mother, you have my father much offended. QUEEN GERTRUDE Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. HAMLET Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. QUEEN GERTRUDE Why, how now, Hamlet! HAMLET What's the matter now? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho! LORD POLONIUS [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! HAMLET [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! Makes a pass through the arras LORD POLONIUS [Behind] O, I am slain! Falls and dies QUEEN GERTRUDE O me, what hast thou done? HAMLET Nay, I know not: Is it the king? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE As kill a king! HAMLET Ay, lady, 'twas my word. Lifts up the array and discovers 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 brass'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. QUEEN GERTRUDE What have I done, that thou darest 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 GERTRUDE 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 judgment: and what judgment 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 ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Alas, he's mad! HAMLET Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed 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 GERTRUDE 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 hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on 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 GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this? HAMLET Do you see nothing there? QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear? QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves. HAMLET Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Exit Ghost QUEEN GERTRUDE This 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 mattering 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 GERTRUDE 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 devil, 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 to-night, 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 [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, Pointing to POLONIUS I do repent: but heaven hath pleased 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 GERTRUDE 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 GERTRUDE Be thou assured, 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 GERTRUDE 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 engineer 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. Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS ACT IV SCENE I. A room in the castle. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves: You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? QUEEN GERTRUDE Bestow this place on us a little while. Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! KING CLAUDIUS What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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 every one. 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 GERTRUDE 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 CLAUDIUS 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. 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: 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 CLAUDIUS, attended KING CLAUDIUS 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 loved of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where tis so, the 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 relieved, 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 CLAUDIUS But where is he? ROSENCRANTZ Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. KING CLAUDIUS Bring him before us. ROSENCRANTZ Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN KING CLAUDIUS Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? HAMLET At supper. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Alas, alas! HAMLET A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. KING CLAUDIUS What dost you mean by this? HAMLET Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. KING CLAUDIUS Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the 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 CLAUDIUS Go seek him there. To some Attendants HAMLET He will stay till ye come. Exeunt Attendants KING CLAUDIUS 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, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. HAMLET For England! KING CLAUDIUS Ay, Hamlet. HAMLET Good. KING CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS 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 CLAUDIUS Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night: Away! for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the 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 congruing 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, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised 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. PRINCE FORTINBRAS Go softly on. Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others HAMLET Good sir, whose powers are these? Captain They are of Norway, sir. HAMLET How purposed, sir, I pray you? Captain Against some part of Poland. HAMLET Who commands them, sir? Captain The nephews 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 the imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. All's Well That Ends Well Shakespeare homepage | All's Well That Ends Well | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that 'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? LAFEU A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM I heard not of it before. LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness. LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it. HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU How understand we that? COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord; 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone: there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES Aside One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES Save you, fair queen! HELENA And you, monarch! PAROLLES No. HELENA And no. PAROLLES Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES Keep him out. HELENA But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it? HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ] There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother and a mistress and a friend, A phoenix, captain and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he-- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning place, and he is one-- PAROLLES What one, i' faith? HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity-- PAROLLES What's pity? HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think, which never Return us thanks. Enter Page Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES Under Mars, I. HELENA I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES Why under Mars? HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES When he was predominant. HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES Why think you so? HELENA You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES That's for advantage. HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell. Exit HELENA Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove So show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease--my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me. Exit SCENE II. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING of France, with letters, and divers Attendants KING The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war. First Lord So 'tis reported, sir. KING Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial. First Lord His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. Second Lord It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES First Lord It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM My thanks and duty are your majesty's. KING I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. Second Lord You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. BERTRAM Some six months since, my lord. KING If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM Thank your majesty. Exeunt. Flourish SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown COUNTESS I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Steward Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clown 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS Well, sir. Clown No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clown I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS In what case? Clown In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say barnes are blessings. COUNTESS Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clown My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS Is this all your worship's reason? Clown Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they are. COUNTESS May the world know them? Clown I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clown I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clown You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team and gives me leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. COUNTESS Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? Clown A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Steward May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you: of her I am to speak. COUNTESS Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clown Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. COUNTESS What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clown One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we might have a good woman born but one every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. COUNTESS You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Clown That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS Well, now. Steward I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. Steward Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS You have discharged this honestly; keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this before, which hung so tottering in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon. Exit Steward Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young: If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now. HELENA What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS Nay, a mother: Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,' That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care: God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why? that you are my daughter? HELENA That I am not. COUNTESS I say, I am your mother. HELENA Pardon, madam; The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die: He must not be my brother. COUNTESS Nor I your mother? HELENA You are my mother, madam; would you were,-- So that my lord your son were not my brother,-- Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law: God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. HELENA Good madam, pardon me! COUNTESS Do you love my son? HELENA Your pardon, noble mistress! COUNTESS Love you my son? HELENA Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,-- To go to Paris? HELENA Madam, I had. COUNTESS Wherefore? tell true. HELENA I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost. COUNTESS This was your motive For Paris, was it? speak. HELENA My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? he and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? HELENA There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour. COUNTESS Dost thou believe't? HELENA Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Paris. The KING's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING, attended with divers young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, and PAROLLES KING Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell: Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. First Lord 'Tis our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. KING No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,-- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,--see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. Second Lord Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! KING Those girls of Italy, take heed of them: They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand: beware of being captives, Before you serve. Both Our hearts receive your warnings. KING Farewell. Come hither to me. Exit, attended First Lord O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES 'Tis not his fault, the spark. Second Lord O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES Most admirable: I have seen those wars. BERTRAM I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.' PAROLLES An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up and no sword worn But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away. First Lord There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES Commit it, count. Second Lord I am your accessary; and so, farewell. BERTRAM I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. First Lord Farewell, captain. Second Lord Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his reports for me. First Lord We shall, noble captain. Exeunt Lords PAROLLES Mars dote on you for his novices! what will ye do? BERTRAM Stay: the king. Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM And I will do so. PAROLLES Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU Good faith, across: but, my good lord 'tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? KING No. LAFEU O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch, Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand, And write to her a love-line. KING What 'her' is this? LAFEU Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived, If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondering how thou took'st it. LAFEU Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit KING Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA LAFEU Nay, come your ways. KING This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU Nay, come your ways: This is his majesty; say your mind to him: A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. Exit KING Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father; In what he did profess, well found. KING I knew him. HELENA The rather will I spare my praises towards him: Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one. Which, as the dearest issue of his practise, And of his old experience the oily darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; And hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it and my appliance With all bound humbleness. KING We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidible estate; I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics, or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help when help past sense we deem. HELENA My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you. Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back a again. KING I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live: But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes; great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails and most oft there Where most it promises, and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. KING I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid: Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with Him that all things knows As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think and think I know most sure My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING Are thou so confident? within what space Hopest thou my cure? HELENA The great'st grace lending grace Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free and sickness freely die. KING Upon thy certainty and confidence What darest thou venture? HELENA Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call: Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING Make thy demand. HELENA But will you make it even? KING Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING Here is my hand; the premises observed, Thy will by my performance shall be served: So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clown I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Clown Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. Clown It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS Will your answer serve fit to all questions? Clown As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Clown From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Clown But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clown O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clown O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me. COUNTESS I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clown O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clown O Lord, sir! spare not me. COUNTESS Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clown I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS I play the noble housewife with the time To entertain't so merrily with a fool. Clown O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsmen and my son: This is not much. Clown Not much commendation to them. COUNTESS Not much employment for you: you understand me? Clown Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. COUNTESS Haste you again. Exeunt severally SCENE III. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM And so 'tis. LAFEU To be relinquish'd of the artists,-- PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Both of Galen and Paracelsus. PAROLLES So I say. LAFEU Of all the learned and authentic fellows,-- PAROLLES Right; so I say. LAFEU That gave him out incurable,-- PAROLLES Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU Not to be helped,-- PAROLLES Right; as 'twere, a man assured of a-- LAFEU Uncertain life, and sure death. PAROLLES Just, you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in--what do you call there? LAFEU A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. PAROLLES That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me, I speak in respect-- PAROLLES Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the-- LAFEU Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES Ay, so I say. LAFEU In a most weak-- pausing and debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recovery of the king, as to be-- pausing generally thankful. PAROLLES I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. LAFEU and PAROLLES retire LAFEU Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen? LAFEU 'Fore God, I think so. KING Go, call before me all the lords in court. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promised gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four Lords Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one! LAFEU I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING Peruse them well: Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restored the king to health. All We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest, That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your majesty, I have done already: The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again.' KING Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? First Lord And grant it. HELENA Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes and her humble love! Second Lord No better, if you please. HELENA My wish receive, Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave. LAFEU Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. HELENA Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. Fourth Lord Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir, And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. KING Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad: Let the rest go. KING My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt: Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes: when I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM I take her hand. KING Good fortune and the favour of the king Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES LAFEU [Advancing] Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. PAROLLES Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES Recantation! My lord! my master! LAFEU Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES To any count, to all counts, to what is man. LAFEU To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou't scarce worth. PAROLLES Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,-- LAFEU Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES I have not, my lord, deserved it. LAFEU Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know. PAROLLES My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you: you have a new mistress. PAROLLES I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU Who? God? PAROLLES Ay, sir. LAFEU The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee: I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you. Exit PAROLLES Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good; let it be concealed awhile. Re-enter BERTRAM BERTRAM Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES What's the matter, sweet-heart? BERTRAM Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES What, what, sweet-heart? BERTRAM O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! BERTRAM There's letters from my mother: what the import is, I know not yet. PAROLLES Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to the war! BERTRAM It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak; his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure? BERTRAM Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away: to-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd: Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt SCENE IV. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter HELENA and Clown HELENA My mother greets me kindly; is she well? Clown She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the world; but yet she is not well. HELENA If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very well? Clown Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA What two things? Clown One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? Clown So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES Why, I say nothing. Clown Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES Away! thou'rt a knave. Clown You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had been truth, sir. PAROLLES Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. Clown Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA What's his will else? PAROLLES That you will take your instant leave o' the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA What more commands he? PAROLLES That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA In every thing I wait upon his will. PAROLLES I shall report it so. HELENA I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt SCENE V. Paris. The KING's palace. Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. LAFEU I have then sinned against his experience and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make us friends; I will pursue the amity. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES Sir? LAFEU O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the king? PAROLLES She is. BERTRAM Will she away to-night? PAROLLES As you'll have her. BERTRAM I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. BERTRAM Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES An idle lord. I swear. BERTRAM I think so. PAROLLES Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king and have procured his leave For present parting; only he desires Some private speech with you. BERTRAM I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you That presently you take our way for home; And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better than they seem And my appointments have in them a need Greater than shows itself at the first view To you that know them not. This to my mother: Giving a letter 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. HELENA Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM Come, come, no more of that. HELENA And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. HELENA Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM Well, what would you say? HELENA I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM What would you have? HELENA Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord: Faith yes; Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. BERTRAM I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell. Exit HELENA Go thou toward home; where I will never come Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Florence. The DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended; the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers. DUKE So that from point to point now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. First Lord Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. Second Lord Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE Be it his pleasure. First Lord But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE Welcome shall they be; And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Clown COUNTESS It hath happened all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. Clown By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS By what observance, I pray you? Clown Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. COUNTESS Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. Opening a letter Clown I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS What have we here? Clown E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS [Reads] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not' eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprising of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady! COUNTESS What is the matter? Clown Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS Why should he be killed? Clown So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen First Gentleman Save you, good madam. HELENA Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. Second Gentleman Do not say so. COUNTESS Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen, I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you? Second Gentleman Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport. Reads When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.' This is a dreadful sentence. COUNTESS Brought you this letter, gentlemen? First Gentleman Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain. COUNTESS I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? Second Gentleman Ay, madam. COUNTESS And to be a soldier? Second Gentleman Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS Return you thither? First Gentleman Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA [Reads] Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS Find you that there? HELENA Ay, madam. First Gentleman 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? First Gentleman A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS Parolles, was it not? First Gentleman Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. First Gentleman Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much, Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS You're welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. Second Gentleman We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near! Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen HELENA 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France; Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere I met the ravin lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all: I will be gone; My being here it is that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house And angels officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit SCENE III. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets DUKE The general of our horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To the extreme edge of hazard. DUKE Then go thou forth; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt SCENE IV. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS and Steward COUNTESS Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Steward [Reads] I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far His name with zealous fervor sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me: Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. COUNTESS Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Steward Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. COUNTESS What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Dispatch the most convenient messenger: When haply he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense To make distinction: provide this messenger: My heart is heavy and mine age is weak; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt SCENE V. Florence. Without the walls. A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other Citizens Widow Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. DIANA They say the French count has done most honourable service. Widow It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. Tucket We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Widow I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is so lost. DIANA You shall not need to fear me. Widow I hope so. Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house; thither they send one another: I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound? HELENA To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Widow At the Saint Francis here beside the port. HELENA Is this the way? Widow Ay, marry, is't. A march afar Hark you! they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; The rather, for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA Is it yourself? Widow If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Widow You came, I think, from France? HELENA I did so. Widow Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA His name, I pray you. DIANA The Count Rousillon: know you such a one? HELENA But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. DIANA Whatsome'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking: think you it is so? HELENA Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. DIANA There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA What's his name? DIANA Monsieur Parolles. HELENA O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated: all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examined. DIANA Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Widow I warrant, good creature, wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleased. HELENA How do you mean? May be the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Widow He does indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard In honestest defence. MARIANA The gods forbid else! Widow So, now they come: Drum and Colours Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA Which is the Frenchman? DIANA He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he loved his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA I like him well. DIANA 'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave That leads him to these places: were I his lady, I would Poison that vile rascal. HELENA Which is he? DIANA That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy? HELENA Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. PAROLLES Lose our drum! well. MARIANA He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Widow Marry, hang you! MARIANA And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army Widow The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. HELENA I humbly thank you: Please it this matron and this gentle maid To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of this virgin Worthy the note. BOTH We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords Second Lord Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. First Lord If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. Second Lord On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Second Lord Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. First Lord It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. BERTRAM I would I knew in what particular action to try him. First Lord None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. Second Lord I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. First Lord O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLLES Second Lord [Aside to BERTRAM] O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. First Lord A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost! There was excellent command,--to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! First Lord That was not to be blamed in the command of the service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES It might have been recovered. BERTRAM It might; but it is not now. PAROLLES It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' BERTRAM Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it. and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. PAROLLES By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES I love not many words. Exit Second Lord No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do and dares better be damned than to do't? First Lord You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. BERTRAM Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Second Lord None in the world; but return with an invention and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. First Lord We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very night. Second Lord I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. BERTRAM Your brother he shall go along with me. Second Lord As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. First Lord But you say she's honest. BERTRAM That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: Will you go see her? First Lord With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt SCENE VII. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA and Widow HELENA If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Widow Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Widow I should believe you: For you have show'd me that which well approves You're great in fortune. HELENA Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay and pay again When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Widow Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is passed already. Widow I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts and songs composed To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves; for he persists As if his life lay on't. HELENA Why then to-night Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed And lawful meaning in a lawful act, Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. Enter Second French Lord, with five or six other Soldiers in ambush Second Lord He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will: though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us whom we must produce for an interpreter. First Soldier Good captain, let me be the interpreter. Second Lord Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? First Soldier No, sir, I warrant you. Second Lord But what linsey-woolsey hast thou to speak to us again? First Soldier E'en such as you speak to me. Second Lord He must think us some band of strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. Second Lord This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. Second Lord Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Second Lord We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. Second Lord 'Twould not do. PAROLLES Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. Second Lord Hardly serve. PAROLLES Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel. Second Lord How deep? PAROLLES Thirty fathom. Second Lord Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I would swear I recovered it. Second Lord You shall hear one anon. PAROLLES A drum now of the enemy's,-- Alarum within Second Lord Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES O, ransom, ransom! do not hide mine eyes. They seize and blindfold him First Soldier Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES I know you are the Muskos' regiment: And I shall lose my life for want of language; If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. First Soldier Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES O! First Soldier O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. Second Lord Oscorbidulchos volivorco. First Soldier The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES O, let me live! And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. First Soldier But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES If I do not, damn me. First Soldier Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within Second Lord Go, tell the Count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. Second Soldier Captain, I will. Second Lord A' will betray us all unto ourselves: Inform on that. Second Soldier So I will, sir. Second Lord Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt SCENE II. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA She then was honest. BERTRAM So should you be. DIANA No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM No more o' that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM How have I sworn! DIANA 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God's great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd, At least in my opinion. BERTRAM Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me. DIANA Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. DIANA Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault. BERTRAM Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit SCENE III. The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords and some two or three Soldiers First Lord You have not given him his mother's letter? Second Lord I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he changed almost into another man. First Lord He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. Second Lord Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. First Lord When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Second Lord He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. First Lord Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves, what things are we! Second Lord Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. First Lord Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? Second Lord Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. First Lord That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see his company anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. Second Lord We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. First Lord In the mean time, what hear you of these wars? Second Lord I hear there is an overture of peace. First Lord Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Second Lord What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? First Lord I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. Second Lord Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal of his act. First Lord Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. Second Lord How is this justified? First Lord The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. Second Lord Hath the count all this intelligence? First Lord Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, so to the full arming of the verity. Second Lord I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. First Lord How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! Second Lord And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquired for him shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. First Lord The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Messenger How now! where's your master? Servant He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. Second Lord They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. First Lord They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord! is't not after midnight? BERTRAM I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. Second Lord If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. Second Lord Bring him forth: has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM No matter: his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Second Lord I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? BERTRAM Nothing of me, has a'? Second Lord His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier BERTRAM A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me: hush, hush! First Lord Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa First Soldier He calls for the tortures: what will you say without 'em? PAROLLES I will confess what I know without constraint: if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. First Soldier Bosko chimurcho. First Lord Boblibindo chicurmurco. First Soldier You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES And truly, as I hope to live. First Soldier [Reads] 'First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. First Soldier Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! First Lord You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Second Lord I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his apparel neatly. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth. First Lord He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES Poor rogues, I pray you, say. First Soldier Well, that's set down. PAROLLES I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. First Soldier [Reads] 'Demand of him, of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM What shall be done to him? First Lord Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. First Soldier Well, that's set down. Reads 'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what do you know of it? PAROLLES I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories: demand them singly. First Soldier Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. BERTRAM Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. First Soldier Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. First Lord Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. First Soldier What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. First Soldier Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters in my tent. First Soldier Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you? PAROLLES I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM Our interpreter does it well. First Lord Excellently. First Soldier [Reads] 'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'-- PAROLLES That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. First Soldier Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. PAROLLES My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM Damnable both-sides rogue! First Soldier [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. Second Lord This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist and the armipotent soldier. BERTRAM I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. First Soldier I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature: let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. First Soldier We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answered to his reputation with the duke and to his valour: what is his honesty? PAROLLES He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. First Lord I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a cat. First Soldier What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. First Lord He hath out-villained villany so far, that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM A pox on him, he's a cat still. First Soldier His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. First Soldier What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? Second Lord Why does be ask him of me? First Soldier What's he? PAROLLES E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. First Soldier If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon. First Soldier I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES [Aside] I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? First Soldier There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. PAROLLES O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! First Lord That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. Unblinding him So, look about you: know you any here? BERTRAM Good morrow, noble captain. Second Lord God bless you, Captain Parolles. First Lord God save you, noble captain. Second Lord Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. First Lord Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you: but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords First Soldier You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on't yet PAROLLES Who cannot be crushed with a plot? First Soldier If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. Exit with Soldiers PAROLLES Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this, for it will come to pass that every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit SCENE IV. Florence. The Widow's house. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA HELENA That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be before our welcome. Widow Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt SCENE V. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown LAFEU No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. Clown I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Clown A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU Your distinction? Clown I would cozen the man of his wife and do his service. LAFEU So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clown And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave and fool. Clown At your service. LAFEU No, no, no. Clown Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU Who's that? a Frenchman? Clown Faith, sir, a' has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU What prince is that? Clown The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clown I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clown If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU A shrewd knave and an unhappy. COUNTESS So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. COUNTESS It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together. LAFEU Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but I thank my God it holds yet. Re-enter Clown Clown O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that. Clown But it is your carbonadoed face. LAFEU Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clown Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two Attendants HELENA But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman This man may help me to his majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. Gentleman And you. HELENA Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gentleman I have been sometimes there. HELENA I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gentleman What's your will? HELENA That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king, And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. Gentleman The king's not here. HELENA Not here, sir! Gentleman Not, indeed: He hence removed last night and with more haste Than is his use. Widow Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gentleman Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gentleman This I'll do for you. HELENA And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again. Go, go, provide. Exeunt SCENE II. Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following PAROLLES Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clown Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. Clown Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clown Foh! prithee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. LAFEU And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends: I am for other business. PAROLLES I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES O my good lord, you were the first that found me! LAFEU Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings thee in grace and the other brings thee out. Trumpets sound The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. PAROLLES I praise God for you. Exeunt SCENE III. Rousillon. The COUNT's palace. Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two French Lords, with Attendants KING We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. Gentleman I shall, my liege. Exit KING What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? LAFEU All that he is hath reference to your highness. KING Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That set him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU He looks well on't. KING I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM Admiringly, my liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came That she whom all men praised and whom myself, Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING Well excused: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends and after weep their dust Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. BERTRAM gives a ring By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM Hers it was not. KING Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction and would never Receive the ring again. KING Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, Where you have never come, or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM She never saw it. KING Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And makest conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;-- And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. Take him away. Guards seize BERTRAM My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him! We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. Exit, guarded KING I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a Gentleman Gentleman Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for four or five removes come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. KING [Reads] Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET. LAFEU I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this: I'll none of him. KING The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: Go speedily and bring again the count. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS Now, justice on the doers! Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded KING I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter Widow and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Widow I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING Come hither, count; do you know these women? BERTRAM My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them: do they charge me further? DIANA Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies. DIANA Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. KING What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet for all that He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. COUNTESS He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; That ring's a thousand proofs. KING Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. LAFEU I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an Attendant BERTRAM What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? KING She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM I think she has: certain it is I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA I must be patient: You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet; Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband; Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM I have it not. KING What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. DIANA And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA Ay, my lord. KING Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman? PAROLLES Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING How, I pray you? PAROLLES He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING How is that? PAROLLES He loved her, sir, and loved her not. KING As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. LAFEU He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA Do you know he promised me marriage? PAROLLES Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? PAROLLES Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA Ay, my good lord. KING Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? DIANA It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING Who lent it you? DIANA It was not lent me neither. KING Where did you find it, then? DIANA I found it not. KING If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA I never gave it him. LAFEU This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. KING This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife. DIANA It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING Take her away; I do not like her now; To prison with her: and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA I'll never tell you. KING Take her away. DIANA I'll put in bail, my liege. KING I think thee now some common customer. DIANA By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while? DIANA Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty: He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. KING She does abuse our ears: to prison with her. DIANA Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir: Exit Widow The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defiled; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA KING Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM Both, both. O, pardon! HELENA O my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter; this it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring And are by me with child,' & c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? BERTRAM If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA If it appear not plain and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon: To PAROLLES Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so, I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. To DIANA If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. Of that and all the progress, more or less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish EPILOGUE KING The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt As You Like It Shakespeare homepage | As You Like It | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother. ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here? ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. OLIVER What mar you then, sir? ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? OLIVER Know you where your are, sir? ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. OLIVER Know you before whom, sir? ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OLIVER What, boy! ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OLIVER Let me go, I say. ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog. ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS DENNIS Calls your worship? OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. OLIVER Call him in. Exit DENNIS 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES CHARLES Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. OLIVER Where will the old duke live? CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder. CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so God keep your worship! OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. Exit CHARLES Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. Exit SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? CELIA Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then? CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. CELIA 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE CELIA No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. CELIA Prithee, who is't that thou meanest? TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. ROSALIND With his mouth full of news. CELIA Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter LE BEAU Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA Sport! of what colour? LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you? ROSALIND As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE Or as the Destinies decree. CELIA Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank,-- ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND You tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,-- CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men by these presents.' LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND Alas! TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants DUKE FREDERICK Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND Is yonder the man? LE BEAU Even he, madam. CELIA Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can tell you; there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK Do so: I'll not be by. LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA And mine, to eke out hers. ROSALIND Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you! CELIA Your heart's desires be with you! CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK You shall try but one fall. CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. ROSALIND Now Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. They wrestle ROSALIND O excellent young man! CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. Shout. CHARLES is thrown DUKE FREDERICK No more, no more. ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK I would thou hadst been son to some man else: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth: I would thou hadst told me of another father. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU CELIA Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND Gentleman, Giving him a chain from her neck Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA Will you go, coz? ROSALIND Have with you. Fare you well. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause and love, Yet such is now the duke's condition That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous; what he is indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, Grounded upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Exit LE BEAU Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother: But heavenly Rosalind! Exit SCENE III. A room in the palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND CELIA Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word? ROSALIND Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA But is all this for your father? ROSALIND No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. CELIA Hem them away. ROSALIND I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. CELIA Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! CELIA O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? ROSALIND The duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? ROSALIND Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke. CELIA With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. ROSALIND Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness. DUKE FREDERICK Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. ROSALIND Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. ROSALIND So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish'd him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. CELIA Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords CELIA O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND I have more cause. CELIA Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? ROSALIND That he hath not. CELIA No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. ROSALIND Why, whither shall we go? CELIA To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. ROSALIND Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA I'll put myself in poor and mean attire And with a kind of umber smirch my face; The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-- We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? CELIA Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.' Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. AMIENS Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? Second Lord We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR Show me the place: I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. First Lord I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. Second Lord My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me; I'll make him find him: do this suddenly, And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting ORLANDO Who's there? ADAM What, my young master? O, my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO Why, what's the matter? ADAM O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son-- Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father-- Hath heard your praises, and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practises. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame And unregarded age in corners thrown: Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; And all this I give you. Let me be your servant: Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry But come thy ways; well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Aliena! CELIA I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. ROSALIND Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. TOUCHSTONE And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE Holla, you clown! ROSALIND Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN Who calls? TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. CORIN Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succor. CORIN Fair sir, I pity her And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see. And in my voice most welcome shall you be. ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt SCENE V. The Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others SONG. AMIENS Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. AMIENS My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you. JAQUES I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos? AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you. JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun All together here And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. JAQUES I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS And I'll sing it. JAQUES Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS What's that 'ducdame'? JAQUES 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. Exeunt severally SCENE VI. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt SCENE VII. The forest. A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws DUKE SENIOR I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. First Lord My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song. DUKE SENIOR If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES First Lord He saves my labour by his own approach. DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. JAQUES It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The 'why' is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function That says his bravery is not of my cost, Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it. DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have That to your wanting may be minister'd. ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. DUKE SENIOR Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. JAQUES All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. ORLANDO I thank you most for him. ADAM So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. DUKE SENIOR Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. SONG. AMIENS Blow, blow, thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing, & c. DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in the palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER DUKE FREDERICK Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth Of what we think against thee. OLIVER O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. Exit Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CORIN And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN No, truly. TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned. CORIN Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance. CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. CORIN Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading ROSALIND From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. ROSALIND Out, fool! TOUCHSTONE For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. ROSALIND I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing ROSALIND Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. CELIA [Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. ROSALIND O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people!' CELIA How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA Didst thou hear these verses? ROSALIND O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. CELIA That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. CELIA Trow you who hath done this? ROSALIND Is it a man? CELIA And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? ROSALIND I prithee, who? CELIA O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. ROSALIND Nay, but who is it? CELIA Is it possible? ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! ROSALIND Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that may drink thy tidings. CELIA So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard. ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. CELIA I' faith, coz, 'tis he. ROSALIND Orlando? CELIA Orlando. ROSALIND Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. ROSALIND It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed. CELIA There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CELIA Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. ROSALIND O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CELIA I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CELIA You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES ROSALIND 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. JAQUES I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. JAQUES God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can. ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. JAQUES Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO Yes, just. JAQUES I do not like her name. ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. JAQUES What stature is she of? ORLANDO Just as high as my heart. JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings? ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery. ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love. ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. JAQUES I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO Very well: what would you? ROSALIND I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? ROSALIND By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal. ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal. ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO Who stays it still withal? ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. ORLANDO Are you native of this place? ROSALIND As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it. ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them. ROSALIND No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy. ROSALIND There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO What were his marks? ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth. ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. ROSALIND Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth. ROSALIND Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind TOUCHSTONE Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? AUDREY Your features! Lord warrant us! what features! TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. JAQUES [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house! TOUCHSTONE When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUDREY I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? TOUCHSTONE No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. AUDREY Would you not have me honest? TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. JAQUES [Aside] A material fool! AUDREY Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. JAQUES [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy! TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? C ourage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the woman? TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES [Advancing] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. JAQUES Will you be married, motley? TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. TOUCHSTONE 'Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,-- O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee: but,-- Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY SIR OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. Exit SCENE IV. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND Never talk to me; I will weep. CELIA Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep? CELIA As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CELIA Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND Do you think so? CELIA Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND Not true in love? CELIA Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA 'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA Well, and what of him? CORIN If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind PHEBE I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS O dear Phebe, If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. PHEBE But till that time Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed-- Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well. PHEBE Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHEBE For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN PHEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?' SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,-- PHEBE Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me. PHEBE Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. PHEBE Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS I would have you. PHEBE Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. PHEBE Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHEBE Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Between the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart. PHEBE I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. The forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND They say you are a melancholy fellow. JAQUES I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND Why then, 'tis good to be a post. JAQUES I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES Yes, I have gained my experience. ROSALIND And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too! Enter ORLANDO ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit ROSALIND Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO Of a snail? ROSALIND Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO What's that? ROSALIND Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND And I am your Rosalind. CELIA It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO What, of my suit? ROSALIND Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND Well in her person I say I will not have you. ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die. ROSALIND No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. ROSALIND By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO What sayest thou? ROSALIND Are you not good? ORLANDO I hope so. ROSALIND Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us. CELIA I cannot say the words. ROSALIND You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' CELIA Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO I will. ROSALIND Ay, but when? ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged. ROSALIND Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO For ever and a day. ROSALIND Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO O, but she is wise. ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?' ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool! ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu. ROSALIND Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA And I'll sleep. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? A Lord Sir, it was I. JAQUES Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? Forester Yes, sir. JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. SONG. Forester What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father's father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it. ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention and his hand. SILVIUS Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. ROSALIND She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS Call you this railing? ROSALIND [Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. SILVIUS Call you this chiding? CELIA Alas, poor shepherd! ROSALIND Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit SILVIUS Enter OLIVER OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There's none within. OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.' Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLIVER Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND I am: what must we understand by this? OLIVER Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain'd. CELIA I pray you, tell it. OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. ROSALIND But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked. CELIA Are you his brother? ROSALIND Wast you he rescued? CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER 'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. ROSALIND But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER By and by. When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place:-- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. ROSALIND swoons CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! OLIVER Look, he recovers. ROSALIND I would I were at home. CELIA We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man's heart. ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt ACT V SCENE I. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter WILLIAM WILLIAM Good even, Audrey. AUDREY God ye good even, William. WILLIAM And good even to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM William, sir. TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so. TOUCHSTONE 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM No, sir. TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. WILLIAM Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this female,--which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY Do, good William. WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir. Exit Enter CORIN CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away! TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. Exeunt SCENE II. The forest. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? OLIVER Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke and all's contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND God save you, brother. OLIVER And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO It is my arm. ROSALIND I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that. ROSALIND O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger. ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings? ROSALIND By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array: bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. PHEBE Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. ROSALIND I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. PHEBE Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And I for no woman. SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe. PHEBE And so am I for Ganymede. ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind. ROSALIND And so am I for no woman. PHEBE If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you? ROSALIND Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: To ORLANDO I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: To SILVIUS I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live. PHEBE Nor I. ORLANDO Nor I. Exeunt SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY TOUCHSTONE To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages First Page Well met, honest gentleman. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. Second Page We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Second Page I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, & c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, & c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, & c. TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. First Page You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt SCENE IV. The forest. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA DUKE SENIOR Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE ROSALIND Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here? DUKE SENIOR That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. ROSALIND You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? PHEBE That will I, should I die the hour after. ROSALIND But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? PHEBE So is the bargain. ROSALIND You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY JAQUES There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all! JAQUES Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. JAQUES And how was that ta'en up? TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. JAQUES How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR I like him very well. TOUCHSTONE God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If. JAQUES Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA Still Music HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. ROSALIND [To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours. To ORLANDO To you I give myself, for I am yours. DUKE SENIOR If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! ROSALIND I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. HYMEN Peace, ho! I bar confusion: 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! DUKE SENIOR O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. PHEBE I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS JAQUES DE BOYS Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. DUKE SENIOR Welcome, young man; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. JAQUES Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? JAQUES DE BOYS He hath. JAQUES To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE SENIOR You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: To ORLANDO You to a love that your true faith doth merit: To OLIVER You to your land and love and great allies: To SILVIUS You to a long and well-deserved bed: To TOUCHSTONE And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay. JAQUES To see no pastime I what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. A dance EPILOGUE ROSALIND It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. Exeunt The Comedy of Errors Shakespeare homepage | Comedy of Errors | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace. Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, 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 threatening 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 any 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 condemned to die. AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed 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 sorrows give 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 lived in joy; our wealth increased 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 meaner 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 embraced, 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, Forced 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 fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd 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, Dispersed 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 SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON 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 encounterd 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 seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'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 SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned 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 labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest 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 SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, 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 would 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 I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy life 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. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaoler I will, my lord. AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt SCENE II. The Mart. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant First 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 dinner-time: 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 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? First 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 bed-time: 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. First Merchant Sir, I commend you to your own content. Exit 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, falling 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 to-day. 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 darest thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? DROMIO OF EPHESUS I pray you, air, 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 disposed 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 stays for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE 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 undisposed: 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, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit 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. The house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more preeminence 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 unmoved! no marvel though she pause; They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more would we ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience wouldst 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 is stark mad. When I desired 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 the 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 promised me a chain; Would that alone, alone 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, and 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. A public place. 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 received 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 displeased. 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. Beating him 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 demeanor 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: an 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 trimming; 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, 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 unurged 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-savor'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art thus 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 mayest thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled that same drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How dearly would it touch me to the quick, Shouldst 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 too be one and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed; I live unstain'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, Want wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA Fie, brother! how the world is changed 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 pratest 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 changed 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 laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 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-advised? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! 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. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR 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 to-morrow 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 charged 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 Balthazar: pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR 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, Cicel, 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 [Within] 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 [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass. LUCE [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Let my master in, Luce. LUCE [Within] 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 [Within] Have at you with another; that's--When? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast answered him well. ANTIPHOLUS Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? OF EPHESUS LUCE [Within] I thought to have asked you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] 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 [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS Master, knock the door hard. LUCE [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. LUCE [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? ADRIANA [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Are you there, wife? you might have come before. ADRIANA [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 there 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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 [Within] 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. BALTHAZAR 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 ruled 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 housed where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS You have prevailed: 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. To Angelo 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. The First part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others KING HENRY IV 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; Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets 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 moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. But this our purpose now is 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 HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north and thus it did import: On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the 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 HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest 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 call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath 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 HENRY IV 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. London. An apartment of the Prince's. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? PRINCE HENRY 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 Phoebus, he,'that wandering 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 HENRY What, none? FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to prologue to an egg and butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. PRINCE HENRY 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 fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt. FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, and I do not, I am a villain: I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. POINS But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow 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 HENRY Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. FALSTAFF There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. PRINCE HENRY Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. FALSTAFF Why, that's well said. PRINCE HENRY Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. FALSTAFF By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! Exit Falstaff POINS Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 vizards we will change after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. PRINCE HENRY 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 lies the jest. PRINCE HENRY Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. POINS Farewell, my lord. Exit Poins PRINCE HENRY I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked 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 behavior 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, glittering 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. London. The palace. Enter the KING, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, with others KING HENRY IV 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. EARL OF 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 HENRY IV 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 You were about to speak. To North 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 misprison 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, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, 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 sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous salt-petre 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 answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. SIR WALTER BLUNT The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whate'er Lord 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 HENRY IV 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 but 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, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. KING HENRY IV 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 thou 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 licence your departure with your son. Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. Exeunt 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. Re-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 Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 wished 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, An 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-- EARL OF 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 he 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! EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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; Forbad 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. EARL OF 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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 it, 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 Berkley 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. EARL OF WORCESTER Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure. HOTSPUR I have done, i' faith. EARL OF 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. You, my lord, To Northumberland 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? EARL OF 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? EARL OF WORCESTER And so they shall. HOTSPUR In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. EARL OF 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. EARL OF 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 hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 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 villanous 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-lie breeds fleas like a loach. First Carrier What, ostler! come away and be hanged! Second Carrier I have a gammon of bacon and two razors 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 thou 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 pray thee 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? can'st 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 gentleman: they will along with company, for they have great charge. Exeunt carriers GADSHILL What, ho! chamberlain! Chamberlain [Within] 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. Enter Chamberlain 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 St. 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 Trojans that thou dreamest 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, cocksure; 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 highway, near Gadshill. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS POINS Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. PRINCE HENRY Stand close. Enter FALSTAFF FALSTAFF Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! PRINCE HENRY Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! FALSTAFF Where's Poins, Hal? PRINCE HENRY He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him. 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 squier 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 hath 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 HENRY Peace, ye 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 mine 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? FALSTAFF Go, 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, BARDOLPH and PETO GADSHILL Stand. FALSTAFF So I do, against my will. POINS O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news? BARDOLPH Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: 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 HENRY 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 HENRY What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? FALSTAFF Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. PRINCE HENRY Well, we leave that to the proof. POINS Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. FALSTAFF Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. PRINCE HENRY Ned, where are our disguises? POINS Here, hard by: stand close. Exeunt PRINCE HENRY 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! Travellers Jesus 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. Travellers 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 Grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY 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. 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. PRINCE HENRY Your money! POINS Villains! As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them; they all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them PRINCE HENRY 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 rogue roar'd! Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth castle Enter HOTSPUR, solus, 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 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 to-night. 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 cursed 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 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 by 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, An 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. God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st 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 on 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; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? LADY PERCY It must of force. Exeunt SCENE IV. The Boar's-Head Tavern, Eastcheap. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. POINS Where hast been, Hal? PRINCE HENRY With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score 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 christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am 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 sweet 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 under-skinker, 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. POINS Francis! PRINCE HENRY Thou art perfect. POINS Francis! Exit POINS Enter FRANCIS FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. PRINCE HENRY Come hither, Francis. FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY How long hast thou to serve, Francis? FRANCIS Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-- POINS [Within] Francis! FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not? FRANCIS O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis! FRANCIS My lord? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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, standest thou still, and hearest 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 HENRY Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner Poins! Re-enter POINS POINS Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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. Re-enter FRANCIS What's o'clock, Francis? FRANCIS Anon, anon, sir. Exit PRINCE HENRY 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 to-day?' '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; FRANCIS following 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? He drinks PRINCE HENRY 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 villanous 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 live 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 any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 to-day. PRINCE HENRY O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. FALSTAFF All's one for that. He drinks A plague of all cowards, still say I. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Where is it, Jack? where is it? FALSTAFF Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. PRINCE HENRY 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 hand-saw--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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. FALSTAFF Dost thou hear me, Hal? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,-- FALSTAFF What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,-- FALSTAFF 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-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 bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,-- PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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, out-faced 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 run 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 to-night, pray to-morrow. 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 HENRY Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. FALSTAFF Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord the prince! PRINCE HENRY How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Prithee, do, Jack. FALSTAFF 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit FALSTAFF PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY '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 HENRY 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 rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it? BARDOLPH My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? PRINCE HENRY I do. BARDOLPH What think you they portend? PRINCE HENRY Hot livers and cold purses. BARDOLPH Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. PRINCE HENRY No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-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 o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,-- PRINCE HENRY He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. FALSTAFF You have hit it. PRINCE HENRY So did he never the sparrow. FALSTAFF Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run. PRINCE HENRY Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! FALSTAFF O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. PRINCE HENRY Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 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 HENRY Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct. FALSTAFF Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Thy state is taken for a joined-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 HENRY 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 flood-gates 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 villanous 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 sun 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 HENRY 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 three score; 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY I do, I will. A knocking heard Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH Re-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. Re-enter the Hostess Hostess O Jesu, my lord, my lord! PRINCE HENRY 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 mad, without seeming so. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY 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 HENRY Call in the sheriff. Exeunt all except PRINCE HENRY 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 follow'd certain men unto this house. PRINCE HENRY What men? Sheriff One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Carrier As fat as butter. PRINCE HENRY 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 to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing 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 HENRY 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 HENRY I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sheriff Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets, and findeth certain papers What hast thou found? PETO Nothing but papers, my lord. PRINCE HENRY 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 HENRY O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth 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. Exeunt PETO Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III SCENE I. Bangor. 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 kittened, 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 the 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 distemperature, 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's 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, To-morrow, 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, Not shall we need his help these fourteen days. 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 damm'd 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. EARL OF 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 alter'd. 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 axle-tree; 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 GLENDOWER MORTIMER Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! HOTSPUR I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp 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 as 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. EARL OF WORCESTER In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside 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. Re-enter GLENDOWER with the ladies MORTIMER This is the deadly spite that angers me; My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER My daughter weeps: she will 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same GLENDOWER She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. The lady speaks in Welsh MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley should I answer thee. The lady speaks 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 learned 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. The lady speaks 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 is so humorous. By'r lady, he is 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 HOTSPUR 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'st 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 red-breast 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. The palace. Enter KING HENRY IV, PRINCE HENRY, and others KING HENRY IV 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 HENRY 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, which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. KING HENRY IV 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 doth 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 capering 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 drowzed 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 has 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 HENRY I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, Be more myself. KING HENRY IV 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 swathling 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 near'st 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 HENRY 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 HENRY IV A hundred thousand rebels die in this: Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. SIR WALTER 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 the state. KING HENRY IV The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old: On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march Through Gloucestershire; 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. 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 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, villanous 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 bawdy 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 once in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three of 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 rannest up Gadshill 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! The Second part of King Henry the Fourth Shakespeare homepage | Henry IV, part 2 | Entire play None 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 wavering 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 rebel's 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 learn'd 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 wilt 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 dead 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, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed, 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 the noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times slain the 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 quoif! 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 the 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! TRAVERS This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. LORD BARDOLPH Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. MORTON 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 the 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 befallen, 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 our 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 all put forth, body and goods. MORTON 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do 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 followed 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 more diseases than he knew for. FALSTAFF Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate till now: but I will inset you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel,-- the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say his face is a face-royal: God may finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak and my slops? Page He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his band and yours; he liked not the security. FALSTAFF Let him be damned, like the glutton! pray God his tongue be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with security. I looked a' should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. FALSTAFF I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant Page Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF Wait, close; I will not see him. Lord Chief-Justice What's he that goes there? Servant Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Lord Chief-Justice He that was in question for the robbery? Servant He, my lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Chief-Justice What, to York? Call him back again. Servant Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF Boy, tell him I am deaf. Page You must speak louder; my master is deaf. Lord Chief-Justice I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Servant Sir John! FALSTAFF What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? is there not employment? doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. Servant You mistake me, sir. FALSTAFF Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. Servant I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and our soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! if thou gettest any leave of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt counter: hence! avaunt! Servant Sir, my lord would speak with you. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. FALSTAFF My good lord! God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I must humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverent care of your health. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Lord Chief-Justice I talk not of his majesty: you would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God mend him! I pray you, let me speak with you. FALSTAFF This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Lord Chief-Justice What tell you me of it? be it as it is. FALSTAFF It hath its original from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. Lord Chief-Justice I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. FALSTAFF Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Lord Chief-Justice To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. FALSTAFF I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. Lord Chief-Justice I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. FALSTAFF As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Lord Chief-Justice Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Lord Chief-Justice You have misled the youthful prince. FALSTAFF The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Lord Chief-Justice Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. FALSTAFF My lord? Lord Chief-Justice But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. FALSTAFF To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. Lord Chief-Justice What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Lord Chief-Justice There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Lord Chief-Justice You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Lord Chief-Justice Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head and something a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him! For the box of the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have chequed him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. Lord Chief-Justice Well, God send the prince a better companion! FALSTAFF God send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Lord Chief-Justice Well, the king hath severed you and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of Northumberland. FALSTAFF Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day, and I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it: well, I cannot last ever: but it was alway yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Lord Chief-Justice Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? Lord Chief-Justice Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt Chief-Justice and Servant FALSTAFF If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness than a' can part young limbs and lechery: but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. Boy! Page Sir? FALSTAFF What money is in my purse? Page Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair on my chin. About it: you know where to find me. Exit Page A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of any thing: I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit SCENE III. York. The Archbishop's palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? MOWBRAY I well allow the occasion of our arms; But gladly would be better satisfied How in our means we should advance ourselves To look with forehead bold and big enough Upon the power and puissance of the king. HASTINGS Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. LORD BARDOLPH The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland? HASTINGS With him, we may. LORD BARDOLPH Yea, marry, there's the point: But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand; For in a theme so bloody-faced as this Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids incertain should not be admitted. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. LORD BARDOLPH It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself in project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination Proper to madmen, led his powers to death And winking leap'd into destruction. HASTINGS But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. LORD BARDOLPH Yes, if this present quality of war, Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot Lives so in hope as in an early spring We see the appearing buds; which to prove fruit, Hope gives not so much warrant as despair That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model; And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then but draw anew the model In fewer offices, or at last desist To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down And set another up, should we survey The plot of situation and the model, Consent upon a sure foundation, Question surveyors, know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite; or else We fortify in paper and in figures, Using the names of men instead of men: Like one that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost A naked subject to the weeping clouds And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. HASTINGS Grant that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation, I think we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. LORD BARDOLPH What, is the king but five and twenty thousand? HASTINGS To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce a third Must take up us: so is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK That he should draw his several strengths together And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. HASTINGS If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. LORD BARDOLPH Who is it like should lead his forces hither? HASTINGS The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK Let us on, And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many, with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard lived, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accursed! Past and to come seems best; things present worst. MOWBRAY Shall we go draw our numbers and set on? HASTINGS We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. London. A street. Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, FANG and his Boy with her, and SNARE following. MISTRESS QUICKLY Master Fang, have you entered the action? FANG It is entered. MISTRESS QUICKLY Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? will a' stand to 't? FANG Sirrah, where's Snare? MISTRESS QUICKLY O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. SNARE Here, here. FANG Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, good Master Snare; I have entered him and all. SNARE It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. MISTRESS QUICKLY Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mischief he does. If his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. FANG If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. MISTRESS QUICKLY No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. FANG An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice,-- MISTRESS QUICKLY I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure: good Master Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes continuantly to Pie-corner--saving your manhoods--to buy a saddle; and he is indited to dinner to the Lubber's-head in Lumbert street, to Master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes; and that errant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Master Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. Enter FALSTAFF, Page, and BARDOLPH FALSTAFF How now! whose mare's dead? what's the matter? FANG Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. FALSTAFF Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's head: throw the quean in the channel. MISTRESS QUICKLY Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the king's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed, a man-queller, and a woman-queller. FALSTAFF Keep them off, Bardolph. FANG A rescue! a rescue! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wo't, wo't thou? Thou wo't, wo't ta? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! FALSTAFF Away, you scullion! you rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men Lord Chief-Justice What is the matter? keep the peace here, ho! MISTRESS QUICKLY Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. Lord Chief-Justice How now, Sir John! what are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time and business? You should have been well on your way to York. Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st upon him? MISTRESS QUICKLY O most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Lord Chief-Justice For what sum? MISTRESS QUICKLY It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights like the mare. FALSTAFF I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Lord Chief-Justice How comes this, Sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? FALSTAFF What is the gross sum that I owe thee? MISTRESS QUICKLY Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. FALSTAFF My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and down the town that the eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against them. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration: you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and in person. MISTRESS QUICKLY Yea, in truth, my lord. Lord Chief-Justice Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. FALSTAFF My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness impudent sauciness: if a man will make courtesy and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Lord Chief-Justice You speak as having power to do wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy this poor woman. FALSTAFF Come hither, hostess. Enter GOWER Lord Chief-Justice Now, Master Gower, what news? GOWER The king, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. MISTRESS QUICKLY Faith, you said so before. FALSTAFF As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words of it. MISTRESS QUICKLY By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. FALSTAFF Glasses, glasses is the only drinking: and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 'twere not for thy humours, there's not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not know me? come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. MISTRESS QUICKLY Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles: i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! FALSTAFF Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll be a fool still. MISTRESS QUICKLY Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. You'll pay me all together? FALSTAFF Will I live? To BARDOLPH Go, with her, with her; hook on, hook on. MISTRESS QUICKLY Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? FALSTAFF No more words; let's have her. Exeunt MISTRESS QUICKLY, BARDOLPH, Officers and Boy Lord Chief-Justice I have heard better news. FALSTAFF What's the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Where lay the king last night? GOWER At Basingstoke, my lord. FALSTAFF I hope, my lord, all's well: what is the news, my lord? Lord Chief-Justice Come all his forces back? GOWER No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. FALSTAFF Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Lord Chief-Justice You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. FALSTAFF My lord! Lord Chief-Justice What's the matter? FALSTAFF Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? GOWER I must wait upon my good lord here; I thank you, good Sir John. Lord Chief-Justice Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. FALSTAFF Will you sup with me, Master Gower? Lord Chief-Justice What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir John? FALSTAFF Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. Lord Chief-Justice Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a great fool. Exeunt SCENE II. London. Another street. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS PRINCE HENRY Before God, I am exceeding weary. POINS Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood. PRINCE HENRY Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? POINS Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition. PRINCE HENRY Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. POINS How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? PRINCE HENRY Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? POINS Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. PRINCE HENRY It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. POINS Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. PRINCE HENRY Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too. POINS Very hardly upon such a subject. PRINCE HENRY By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. POINS The reason? PRINCE HENRY What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? POINS I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. PRINCE HENRY It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? POINS Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff. PRINCE HENRY And to thee. POINS By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page PRINCE HENRY And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a' had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. BARDOLPH God save your grace! PRINCE HENRY And yours, most noble Bardolph! BARDOLPH Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? Page A' calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and so peeped through. PRINCE HENRY Has not the boy profited? BARDOLPH Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Page Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! PRINCE HENRY Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? Page Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. PRINCE HENRY A crown's worth of good interpretation: there 'tis, boy. POINS O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. BARDOLPH An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. PRINCE HENRY And how doth thy master, Bardolph? BARDOLPH Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you. POINS Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master? BARDOLPH In bodily health, sir. POINS Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. PRINCE HENRY I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes. POINS [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' PRINCE HENRY Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter. POINS [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a certificate. PRINCE HENRY Peace! POINS [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.' My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. PRINCE HENRY That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister? POINS God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. PRINCE HENRY Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? BARDOLPH Yea, my lord. PRINCE HENRY Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank? BARDOLPH At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY What company? Page Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. PRINCE HENRY Sup any women with him? Page None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. PRINCE HENRY What pagan may that be? Page A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. PRINCE HENRY Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? POINS I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. PRINCE HENRY Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for your silence. BARDOLPH I have no tongue, sir. Page And for mine, sir, I will govern it. PRINCE HENRY Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. POINS I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. PRINCE HENRY How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? POINS Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers. PRINCE HENRY From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. Exeunt SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY NORTHUMBERLAND I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times And be like them to Percy troublesome. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. NORTHUMBERLAND Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. LADY PERCY O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him as the sun In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts: he was indeed the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: He had no legs that practised not his gait; And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low and tardily Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous him! O miracle of men! him did you leave, Second to none, unseconded by you, To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible: so you left him. Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong To hold your honour more precise and nice With others than with him! let them alone: The marshal and the archbishop are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew your heart, Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go and meet with danger there, Or it will seek me in another place And find me worse provided. LADY NORTHUMBERLAND O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles and the armed commons Have of their puissance made a little taste. LADY PERCY If they get ground and vantage of the king, Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, First let them try themselves. So did your son; He was so suffer'd: so came I a widow; And never shall have length of life enough To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. NORTHUMBERLAND Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way: Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back. I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers First Drawer What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. Second Drawer Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that. First Drawer Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. Second Drawer Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. First Drawer By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem. Second Drawer I'll see if I can find out Sneak. Exit Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET MISTRESS QUICKLY I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? DOLL TEARSHEET Better than I was: hem! The Life of King Henry the Fifth Shakespeare homepage | Henry V | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Exit SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged, Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of farther question. ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands which men devout By testament have given to the church Would they strip from us; being valued thus: As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil. A hundred almshouses right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill. ELY This would drink deep. CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all. ELY But what prevention? CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard. ELY And a true lover of the holy church. CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment Consideration, like an angel, came And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat and all at once As in this king. ELY We are blessed in the change. CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity, And all-admiring with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say it hath been all in all his study: List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain, His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow, His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscured his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased; And therefore we must needs admit the means How things are perfected. ELY But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? CANTERBURY He seems indifferent, Or rather swaying more upon our part Than cherishing the exhibiters against us; For I have made an offer to his majesty, Upon our spiritual convocation And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France, to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord? CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty; Save that there was not time enough to hear, As I perceived his grace would fain have done, The severals and unhidden passages Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms And generally to the crown and seat of France Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. ELY What was the impediment that broke this off? CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? ELY It is. CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Presence chamber. Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? EXETER Not here in presence. KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle. WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved, Before we hear him, of some things of weight That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne And make you long become it! KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why the law Salique that they have in France Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: We charge you, in the name of God, take heed; For never two such kingdoms did contend Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord; For we will hear, note and believe in heart That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, That owe yourselves, your lives and services To this imperial throne. There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:' Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Then doth it well appear that Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of King Pharamond, Idly supposed the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, To find his title with some shows of truth, 'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. KING HENRY V May I with right and conscience make this claim? CANTERBURY The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, When the man dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back into your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English. that could entertain With half their forces the full Pride of France And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action! ELY Awake remembrance of these valiant dead And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. EXETER Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. WESTMORELAND They know your grace hath cause and means and might; So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. CANTERBURY O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood and sword and fire to win your right; In aid whereof we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. KING HENRY V We must not only arm to invade the French, But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. CANTERBURY They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. KING HENRY V We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force, Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. CANTERBURY She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege; For hear her but exampled by herself: When all her chivalry hath been in France And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. WESTMORELAND But there's a saying very old and true, 'If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin:' For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. EXETER It follows then the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a crush'd necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home; For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. CANTERBURY Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, That many things, having full reference To one consent, may work contrariously: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot. End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. KING HENRY V Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. Exeunt some Attendants Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall with full mouth Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. First Ambassador May't please your majesty to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? KING HENRY V We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. First Ambassador Thus, then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says that you savour too much of your youth, And bids you be advised there's nought in France That can be with a nimble galliard won; You cannot revel into dukedoms there. He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. KING HENRY V What treasure, uncle? EXETER Tennis-balls, my liege. KING HENRY V We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us; His present and your pains we thank you for: When we have march'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, Be like a king and show my sail of greatness When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty And plodded like a man for working-days, But I will rise there with so full a glory That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten and unborn That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on, To venge me as I may and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors EXETER This was a merry message. KING HENRY V We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected and all things thought upon That may with reasonable swiftness add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. Exeunt. Flourish ACT II PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air, And hides a sword from hilts unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England! model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed! Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The abuse of distance; force a play: The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. Exit SCENE I. London. A street. Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH BARDOLPH Well met, Corporal Nym. NYM Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. BARDOLPH What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? NYM For my part, I care not: I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's an end. BARDOLPH I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it be so, good Corporal Nym. NYM Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. BARDOLPH It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. NYM I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter PISTOL and Hostess BARDOLPH Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol! PISTOL Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Hostess No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. NYM and PISTOL draw O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. BARDOLPH Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. NYM Pish! PISTOL Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Hostess Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. NYM Will you shog off? I would have you solus. PISTOL 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile! The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face; The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. NYM I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it. PISTOL O braggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. BARDOLPH Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. Draws PISTOL An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give: Thy spirits are most tall. NYM I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it. PISTOL 'Couple a gorge!' That is the word. I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse: I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to. Enter the Boy Boy Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. BARDOLPH Away, you rogue! Hostess By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Exeunt Hostess and Boy BARDOLPH Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? PISTOL Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! NYM You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL Base is the slave that pays. NYM That now I will have: that's the humour of it. PISTOL As manhood shall compound: push home. They draw BARDOLPH By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. PISTOL Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. BARDOLPH Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. NYM I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? PISTOL A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. NYM I shall have my noble? PISTOL In cash most justly paid. NYM Well, then, that's the humour of't. Re-enter Hostess Hostess As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. NYM The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. PISTOL Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. NYM The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. PISTOL Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND BEDFORD 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. EXETER They shall be apprehended by and by. WESTMORELAND How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. BEDFORD The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. EXETER Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY V, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and Attendants KING HENRY V Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY V I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours, Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. CAMBRIDGE Never was monarch better fear'd and loved Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY V We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. KING HENRY V We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider it was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him. SCROOP That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY V O, let us yet be merciful. CAMBRIDGE So may your highness, and yet punish too. GREY Sir, You show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. KING HENRY V Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch! If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested, Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punished. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners? CAMBRIDGE I one, my lord: Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP So did you me, my liege. GREY And I, my royal sovereign. KING HENRY V Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen! What see you in those papers that you lose So much complexion? Look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? CAMBRIDGE I do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. GREY SCROOP To which we all appeal. KING HENRY V The mercy that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, And sworn unto the practises of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature! Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use, May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence: All other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell the legions 'I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's.' O, how hast thou with 'jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open: Arrest them to the answer of the law; And God acquit them of their practises! EXETER I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. SCROOP Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. CAMBRIDGE For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. GREY Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY V God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspired against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers Received the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy Hostess Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. PISTOL No; for my manly heart doth yearn. Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins: Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. BARDOLPH Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Hostess Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now, sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. NYM They say he cried out of sack. Hostess Ay, that a' did. BARDOLPH And of women. Hostess Nay, that a' did not. Boy Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils incarnate. Hostess A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy A' said once, the devil would have him about women. Hostess A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? BARDOLPH Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. NYM Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattels and my movables: Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:' Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy c rystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy And that's but unwholesome food they say. PISTOL Touch her soft mouth, and march. BARDOLPH Farewell, hostess. Kissing her NYM I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu. PISTOL Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command. Hostess Farewell; adieu. Exeunt SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace. Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES of BERRI and BRETAGNE, the Constable, and others KING OF FRANCE Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields. DAUPHIN My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Constable O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems: So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which of a weak or niggardly projection Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth. KING OF FRANCE Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him, Mangle the work of nature and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger Messenger Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty. KING OF FRANCE We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. DAUPHIN Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and train KING OF FRANCE From our brother England? EXETER From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, 'long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown And all wide-stretched honours that pertain By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, He sends you this most memorable line, In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing to overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly derived From his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. KING OF FRANCE Or else what follows? EXETER Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That, if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans, For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threatening and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. KING OF FRANCE For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. DAUPHIN For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: what to him from England? EXETER Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. DAUPHIN Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe: And, be assured, you'll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. KING OF FRANCE To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. KING OF FRANCE You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions: A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Chorus Chorus Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: Play with your fancies, and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the ravage and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum, and chambers go off And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders KING HENRY V Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off SCENE II. The same. Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. PISTOL And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN FLUELLEN Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward PISTOL Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! NYM These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy Boy As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. FLUELLEN It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER I think it be. FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY GOWER Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. FLUELLEN God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? MACMORRIS By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la! JAMY By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation-- MACMORRIS Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? FLUELLEN Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY A! that's a foul fault. A parley sounded GOWER The town sounds a parley. FLUELLEN Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Before the gates. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his train KING HENRY V How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? GOVERNOR Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible. KING HENRY V Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Flourish. The King and his train enter the town SCENE IV. The FRENCH KING's palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE KATHARINE Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. ALICE Un peu, madame. KATHARINE Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois? ALICE La main? elle est appelee de hand. KATHARINE De hand. Et les doigts? ALICE Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres. KATHARINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails. KATHARINE De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. ALICE C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. KATHARINE Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras. ALICE De arm, madame. KATHARINE Et le coude? ALICE De elbow. KATHARINE De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a present. ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHARINE Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow. ALICE De elbow, madame. KATHARINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? ALICE De neck, madame. KATHARINE De nick. Et le menton? ALICE De chin. KATHARINE De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin. ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre. KATHARINE Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. ALICE N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHARINE Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de fingres, de mails-- ALICE De nails, madame. KATHARINE De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. KATHARINE Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe? ALICE De foot, madame; et de coun. KATHARINE De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. ALICE Excellent, madame! KATHARINE C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF BOURBON, the Constable Of France, and others KING OF FRANCE 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme. Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters? BOURBON Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! Poor we may call them in their native lords. DAUPHIN By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say Our mettle is bred out and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BOURBON They bid us to the English dancing-schools, And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; Saying our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. KING OF FRANCE Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence: Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur: Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Constable This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march, For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear And for achievement offer us his ransom. KING OF FRANCE Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy. And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty. KING OF FRANCE Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, lord constable and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Exeunt SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN, meeting GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but did see him do as gallant service. GOWER What do you call him? FLUELLEN He is called Aunchient Pistol. GOWER I know him not. Enter PISTOL FLUELLEN Here is the man. PISTOL Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. PISTOL Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone-- FLUELLEN By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be: A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice: And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. FLUELLEN Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. The First part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 1 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry's death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death's dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may. GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st Except it be to pray against thy foes. BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright-- Enter a Messenger Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall'd to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used? Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. Enter to them another Messenger Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun. Enter another Messenger Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face. BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation. Exit GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor, And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors; upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have? At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves: Either they must be dieted like mules And have their provender tied to their mouths Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men nor money hath he to make war. CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French! Him I forgive my death that killeth me When he sees me go back one foot or fly. Exeunt Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I! Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the Third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we'll even let them alone. ALENCON Be it so. Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd: Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which by a vision sent to her from heaven Ordained is to raise this tedious siege And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past and what's to come she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. CHARLES Go, call her in. Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS But first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern: By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart. Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash. JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me And in a vision full of majesty Will'd me to leave my base vocation And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infused on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou darest, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms: Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise I renounce all confidence. JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon And fightest with the sword of Deborah. JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me: Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be: 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out. JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it: No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. Exeunt SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day: Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously? First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in. First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector? First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here? GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector, Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats BISHOP OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this? GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? BISHOP OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector, of the king or realm. GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord; Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot: This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth I'll use to carry thee out of this place. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face. GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place; Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard, I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat: In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope. GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope! Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite! Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the prince. GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Here they skirmish again Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation: Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst, Cry. Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the king's, we charge and command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away. This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst. BISHOP OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt SCENE IV. Orleans. Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won. Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The prince's espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; And even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Exit Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! How wert thou handled being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be released? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter'd me: Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me, To be a public spectacle to all: Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame: My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walked about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Enter the Boy with a linstock SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I count each one and view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next. GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: How farest thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Thou shalt not die whiles-- He beckons with his hand and smiles on me. As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.' Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? Enter a Messenger Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you: Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. Alarum. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them: A woman clad in armour chaseth them. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest. JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. Here they fight TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. They fight again JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do; A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. A short alarum Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Alarum. Here another skirmish It will not be: retire into your trenches: You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall. Exit Sergeant Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell! BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company. But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? TALBOT A maid, they say. BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial! BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun. TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner. BURGUNDY And I to this. TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault! Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so? BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this. BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend! At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised. BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure. REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord. CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ'd in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels: Then how or which way should they first break in? JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this; To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. Exit SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Retreat sounded TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town. Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates. BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him? Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company? BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. Whispers You perceive my mind? Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Porter Madam, I will. Exit COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account: Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and TALBOT Messenger Madam, According as your ladyship desired, By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Messenger Madam, it is. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false: I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspect, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes. Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter with keys COUNTESS The Second part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 2 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task and was espoused: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king received. KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord, The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, In courtly company or at my beads, With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And over-joy of heart doth minister. KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech, Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; Such is the fulness of my heart's content. Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all. Flourish SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, For eighteen months concluded by consent. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her father'-- Lets the paper fall KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now! GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them, that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father, and she sent over of the King of England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down: We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for the great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in, and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Received deep scars in France and Normandy? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Early and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe, And had his highness in his infancy Crowned in Paris in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Your deeds of war and all our counsel die? O peers of England, shameful is this league! Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, Undoing all, as all had never been! CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, This peroration with such circumstance? For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all, These counties were the keys of Normandy. But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery: For, were there hope to conquer them again, My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Delivered up again with peaceful words? Mort Dieu! YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives: And our King Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth For costs and charges in transporting her! She should have stayed in France and starved in France, Before-- CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: It was the pleasure of my lord the King. GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings. Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir apparent to the English crown: Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice, 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, He being of age to govern of himself? Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay: I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal: His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector, Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, More like a soldier than a man o' the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all, Swear like a ruffian and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey: And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline, Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: Join we together, for the public good, In what we can, to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country! YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main. WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain, Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolk concluded on the articles, The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage And purchase friends and give to courtezans, Still revelling like lords till all be gone; While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, While all is shared and all is borne away, Ready to starve and dare not touch his own: So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; And in my standard bear the arms of York To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows. DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me And on my head did set the diadem. GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more! DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque'd. GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter Messenger Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee and I. Enter HUME HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty! DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your grace's title shall be multiplied. DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? HUME This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him. DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban's we do make return, We'll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;' Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me? First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine? First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here! Reads 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. SUFFOLK Who is there? Enter Servant Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. Exit Servant with PETER QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Tears the supplication Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. ALL Come, let's be gone. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king? What shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester's governance? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, And placed a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the Duke of York, this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd the regentship. SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field. BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all. SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferred in this. QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women's matters. QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace To be protector of his excellence? GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?-- The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck; The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not? She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear I cry you mercy, madam; was it you? DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman: Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged. Exit BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit Re-enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the law: But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country! But, to the matter that we have in hand: I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: Last time, I danced attendance on his will Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick! WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason: Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these? SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown And that your majesty was a usurper. KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words? HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord of York's armour. YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigor of the law. HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge: Let Somerset be regent over the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place, For he hath witness of his servant's malice: This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty. HORNER And I accept the combat willingly. PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall be the last of the next month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage. BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, and leave us. Exit HUME Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear the sooner the better. BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth Spirit Adsum. MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' Reading out of a paper Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end. BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' Spirit Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this? Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close. And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. Stafford, take her to thee. Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. All, away! Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? Reads 'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.' Why, this is just 'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' Well, to the rest: 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.' Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardly attain'd, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them: A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servingman Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy. CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. GLOUCESTER As who, my lord? SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord, An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester. KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen, And whet not on these furious peers; For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the matter; In thine own person answer thy abuse. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if thou darest, This evening, on the east side of the grove. KING HENRY VI How now, my lords! CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport. Aside to GLOUCESTER Come with thy two-hand sword. GLOUCESTER True, uncle. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the east side of the grove? GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Aside to CARDINAL Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum-- Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!' GLOUCESTER What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Townsman A miracle! a miracle! SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife Ay, indeed, was he. SUFFOLK What woman is this? Wife His wife, an't like your worship. GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born? SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. CARDINAL What, art thou lame? SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me! SUFFOLK How camest thou so? SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree. Wife A plum-tree, master. GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind? SIMPCOX Born so, master. GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree? SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood. GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet. KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see. GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife Never, before this day, in all his life. GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not. GLOUCESTER What's his name? SIMPCOX I know not. GLOUCESTER Nor his? SIMPCOX No, indeed, master. GLOUCESTER What's thine own name? SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightest as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again? SIMPCOX O master, that you could! GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently. Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. Exit an Attendant GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. Enter a Beadle with whips GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!' KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run. GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away. GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BUCKINGHAM KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, Under the countenance and confederacy Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout, Have practised dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurers: Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of King Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy-council; As more at large your grace shall understand. CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart: Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest. And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have loved my king and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is, but if she have forgot Honour and virtue and conversed with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company And give her as a prey to law and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name. KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here: To-morrow toward London back again, To look into this business thoroughly And call these foul offenders to their answers And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Our simple supper ended, give me leave In this close walk to satisfy myself, In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible, to England's crown. SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full. WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. YORK Then thus: Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; William of Windsor was the seventh and last. Edward the Black Prince died before his father And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth: Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right; For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, The issue of the next son should have reign'd. SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir. YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter, Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March: Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity till he died. But to the rest. YORK His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger Earl of March, who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; And in this private plot be we the first That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, But with advice and silent secrecy. Do you as I do in these dangerous days: Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham and all the crew of them, Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey: 'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself: Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick The greatest man in England but the king. Exeunt SCENE III. A hall of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. You four, from hence to prison back again; From thence unto the place of execution: The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, Shall, after three days' open penance done, Live in your country here in banishment, With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee: I cannot justify whom the law condemns. Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go, Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself Protector be; and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet: And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved Than when thou wert protector to thy King. QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and King Henry govern England's realm. Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: As willingly do I the same resign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once; His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. This staff of honour raught, there let it stand Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it; and God defend the right! YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter! First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid. Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the 'prentices. PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already. SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? PETER Peter, forsooth. SALISBURY Peter! what more? PETER Thump. SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow! YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. Dies YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For his death we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. Sound a flourish. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what's o'clock? Servants Ten, my lord. GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month. GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit Herald My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell! DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state. DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully? STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady; According to that state you shall be used. DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go? STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, And when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual. SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? YORK And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted. BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall. QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he's disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SOMERSET SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign! KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done! YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here. GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God! YORK In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny. GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else. SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent. GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness' land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide. GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak. BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded The Third part of King Henry the Sixth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VI, part 3 | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. Throwing down SOMERSET's head YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. They go up WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK I am thine. EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.-- Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? YORK What then? KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I. CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter! WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! Sennet. Here they come down YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came. Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt SCENE II. Sandal Castle. Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter YORK YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK About what? RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK What, with five thousand men? RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? A march afar off EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? Alarum. Exeunt SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him! Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! Exit, dragged off by Soldiers CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- Lifting his hand RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD Thy father hath. RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. Stabs him RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! Dies CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. A short alarum within Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. They lay hands on YORK, who struggles CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Putting a paper crown on his head Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. Stabbing him QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. Stabbing him YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. Dies QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. Flourish. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! Enter a Messenger WARWICK How now! what news? Messenger The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. Exeunt SCENE II. Before York. Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets QUEEN MARGARET Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Enter a Messenger Messenger Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers EDWARD Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET Stay, Edward. EDWARD No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. Exeunt SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. Alarum. Excursions. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. Enter EDWARD, running EDWARD Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter GEORGE GEORGE Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. Enter RICHARD RICHARD Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD RICHARD Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! They fight. WARWICK comes; CLIFFORD flies RICHARD Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt SCENE V. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter KING HENRY VI alone KING HENRY VI This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body Son Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing in the body Father Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Exit with the body Father These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. Exit with the body KING HENRY VI Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, and EXETER PRINCE EDWARD Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt SCENE VI. Another part of the field. A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded CLIFFORD Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. He faints Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers EDWARD Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. CLIFFORD groans, and dies EDWARD Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A forest in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands First Keeper Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. Enter KING HENRY VI, disguised, with a prayerbook KING HENRY VI From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt SCENE II. London. The palace. Enter KING EDWARD IV, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY KING EDWARD IV Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? I see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game: how true he keeps the wind! GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! KING EDWARD IV Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. KING EDWARD IV How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of her. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, whip me then: he'll rather give her two. LADY GREY Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. KING EDWARD IV 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE retire KING EDWARD IV Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. LADY GREY Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. KING EDWARD IV But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. KING EDWARD IV [Aside] Her looks do argue her replete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; All her perfections challenge sovereignty: One way or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-- Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? LADY GREY 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER [Aside to CLARENCE] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. CLARENCE [Aside to GLOUCESTER] When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. KING EDWARD IV Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman Nobleman My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree The play may pass, if they be still and willing, I'll undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they That come to hear a merry bawdy play, A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, To make that only true we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day. SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? NORFOLK I thank your grace, Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Andren. NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? BUCKINGHAM All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. NORFOLK Then you lost The view of earthly glory: men might say, Till this time pomp was single, but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders its. To-day the French, All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain India: every man that stood Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too, Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this masque Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise: and, being present both 'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-- For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believed. BUCKINGHAM O, you go far. NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. BUCKINGHAM Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord? NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth. NORFOLK Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied For eminent assistants; but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: whence has he that, If not from hell? the devil is a niggard, Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. BUCKINGHAM Why the devil, Upon this French going out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. ABERGAVENNY I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sickened their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. BUCKINGHAM O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? NORFOLK Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. BUCKINGHAM Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy; That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. NORFOLK Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore The ambassador is silenced? NORFOLK Marry, is't. ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased At a superfluous rate! BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. NORFOLK Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you-- And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety--that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together; to consider further that What his high hatred would effect wants not A minister in his power. You know his nature, That he's revengeful, and I know his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said, It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock That I advise your shunning. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? First Secretary Here, so please you. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready? First Secretary Ay, please your grace. CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood. NORFOLK What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks Matter against me; and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object: at this instant He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king; I'll follow and outstare him. NORFOLK Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills Requires slow pace at first: anger is like A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim There's difference in no persons. NORFOLK Be advised; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself, If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. BUCKINGHAM Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not but From sincere motions, by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. NORFOLK Say not 'treasonous.' BUCKINGHAM To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief As able to perform't; his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-- Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. NORFOLK Faith, and so it did. BUCKINGHAM Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o' the combination drew As himself pleased; and they were ratified As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,-- Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt-- For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview betwixt England and France might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,-- Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made, And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired, That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. NORFOLK I am sorry To hear this of him; and could wish he were Something mistaken in't. BUCKINGHAM No, not a syllable: I do pronounce him in that very shape He shall appear in proof. Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard BRANDON Your office, sergeant; execute it. Sergeant Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. BUCKINGHAM Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practise. BRANDON I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. BUCKINGHAM It will help me nothing To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and all things! I obey. O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well! BRANDON Nay, he must bear you company. The king To ABERGAVENNY Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. ABERGAVENNY As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd! BRANDON Here is a warrant from The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-- BUCKINGHAM So, so; These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope. BRANDON A monk o' the Chartreux. BUCKINGHAM O, Nicholas Hopkins? BRANDON He. BUCKINGHAM My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already: I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side KING HENRY VIII My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him QUEEN KATHARINE Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. KING HENRY VIII Arise, and take place by us: half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will and take it. QUEEN KATHARINE Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself, and in that love Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. KING HENRY VIII Lady mine, proceed. QUEEN KATHARINE I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been commissions Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties: wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions, yet the king our master-- Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. NORFOLK Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And danger serves among then! KING HENRY VIII Taxation! Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal, You that are blamed for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? CARDINAL WOLSEY Please you, sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file Where others tell steps with me. QUEEN KATHARINE No, my lord, You know no more than others; but you frame Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say They are devised by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. KING HENRY VIII Still exaction! The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? QUEEN KATHARINE I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths: Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. KING HENRY VIII By my life, This is against our pleasure. CARDINAL WOLSEY And for me, I have no further gone in this than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, let me say 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through. We must not stint Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State-statues only. KING HENRY VIII Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county Where this is question'd send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission: pray, look to't; I put it to your care. CARDINAL WOLSEY A word with you. To the Secretary Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised That through our intercession this revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. Exit Secretary Enter Surveyor QUEEN KATHARINE I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. KING HENRY VIII It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-- This was his gentleman in trust--of him Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. KING HENRY VIII Speak freely. Surveyor First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, that if the king Should without issue die, he'll carry it so To make the sceptre his: these very words I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced Revenge upon the cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. QUEEN KATHARINE My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. KING HENRY VIII Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surveyor He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. KING HENRY VIII What was that Hopkins? Surveyor Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor, who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. KING HENRY VIII How know'st thou this? Surveyor Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he, 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs, Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke Shall govern England.' QUEEN KATHARINE If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble person And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. KING HENRY VIII Let him on. Go forward. Surveyor On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forged him some design, which, being believed, It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush, It can do me no damage;' adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. KING HENRY VIII Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further? Surveyor I can, my liege. KING HENRY VIII Proceed. Surveyor Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reproved the duke About Sir William Blomer,-- KING HENRY VIII I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surveyor 'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife to him.' KING HENRY VIII A giant traitor! CARDINAL WOLSEY Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, and this man out of prison? QUEEN KATHARINE God mend all! KING HENRY VIII There's something more would out of thee; what say'st? Surveyor After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,' He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo His father by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. KING HENRY VIII There's his period, To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none, Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, He's traitor to the height. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain and SANDS Chamberlain Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? SANDS New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Chamberlain As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage is but merely A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. SANDS They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it, That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. Chamberlain Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter LOVELL How now! What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? LOVELL Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Chamberlain What is't for? LOVELL The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Chamberlain I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. LOVELL They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those remnants Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable point of ignorance Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks, Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. SANDS 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases Are grown so catching. Chamberlain What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! LOVELL Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. SANDS The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady, Held current music too. Chamberlain Well said, Lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. SANDS No, my lord; Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Chamberlain Sir Thomas, Whither were you a-going? LOVELL To the cardinal's: Your lordship is a guest too. Chamberlain O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. LOVELL That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Chamberlain No doubt he's noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. SANDS He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal; They are set here for examples. Chamberlain True, they are so: But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else; which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford This night to be comptrollers. SANDS I am your lordship's. Exeunt SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD GUILDFORD Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates To fair content and you: none here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Chamberlain You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. SANDS Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. LOVELL O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these! SANDS I would I were; They should find easy penance. LOVELL Faith, how easy? SANDS As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Chamberlain Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze; Two women placed together makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies. SANDS By my faith, And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies: If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. ANNE Was he mad, sir? SANDS O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Kisses her Chamberlain Well said, my lord. So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. SANDS For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state CARDINAL WOLSEY You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome; And to you all, good health. Drinks SANDS Your grace is noble: Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. CARDINAL WOLSEY My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this? SANDS The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em Talk us to silence. ANNE You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sands. SANDS Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,-- ANNE You cannot show me. SANDS I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged CARDINAL WOLSEY What's that? Chamberlain Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant CARDINAL WOLSEY What warlike voice, And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant Chamberlain How now! what is't? Servant A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. CARDINAL WOLSEY Good lord chamberlain, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and once more I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him A noble company! what are their pleasures? Chamberlain Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with 'em. CARDINAL WOLSEY Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE KING HENRY VIII The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance CARDINAL WOLSEY My lord! Chamberlain Your grace? CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Chamberlain I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers CARDINAL WOLSEY What say they? Chamberlain Such a one, they all confess, There is indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. CARDINAL WOLSEY Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make My royal choice. KING HENRY VIII Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. CARDINAL WOLSEY I am glad Your grace is grown so pleasant. KING HENRY VIII My lord chamberlain, Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that? Chamberlain An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter-- The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women. KING HENRY VIII By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber? LOVELL Yes, my lord. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. KING HENRY VIII I fear, too much. CARDINAL WOLSEY There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. KING HENRY VIII Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry: Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. Exeunt with trumpets ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting First Gentleman Whither away so fast? Second Gentleman O, God save ye! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. First Gentleman I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. Second Gentleman Were you there? First Gentleman Yes, indeed, was I. Second Gentleman Pray, speak what has happen'd. First Gentleman You may guess quickly what. Second Gentleman Is he found guilty? First Gentleman Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. Second Gentleman I am sorry for't. First Gentleman So are a number more. Second Gentleman But, pray, how pass'd it? First Gentleman I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty and alleged Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney on the contrary Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired To have brought viva voce to his face: At which appear'd against him his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. Second Gentleman That was he That fed him with his prophecies? First Gentleman The same. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all Was either pitied in him or forgotten. Second Gentleman After all this, how did he bear himself? First Gentleman When he was brought again to the bar, to hear His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and sweetly In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. Second Gentleman I do not think he fears death. First Gentleman Sure, he does not: He never was so womanish; the cause He may a little grieve at. Second Gentleman Certainly The cardinal is the end of this. First Gentleman 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who removed, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. Second Gentleman That trick of state Was a deep envious one. First Gentleman At his return No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, And generally, whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. Second Gentleman All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, The mirror of all courtesy;-- First Gentleman Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people Second Gentleman Let's stand close, and behold him. BUCKINGHAM All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death; 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em: Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. LOVELL I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. BUCKINGHAM Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: no black envy Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be! And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! LOVELL To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. VAUX Prepare there, The duke is coming: see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. BUCKINGHAM Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first raised head against usurping Richard, Flying for succor to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins, Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all That made me happy at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me, A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most; A most unnatural and faithless service! Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell: And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train First Gentleman O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their beads That were the authors. Second Gentleman If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. First Gentleman Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? Second Gentleman This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. First Gentleman Let me have it; I do not talk much. Second Gentleman I am confident, You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the king and Katharine? First Gentleman Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor straight To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. Second Gentleman But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: to confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately; As all think, for this business. First Gentleman 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed. Second Gentleman I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. First Gentleman 'Tis woful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter Chamberlain 'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them: He will have all, I think. Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK Well met, my lord chamberlain. Chamberlain Good day to both your graces. SUFFOLK How is the king employ'd? Chamberlain I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK What's the cause? Chamberlain It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. SUFFOLK Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else. NORFOLK How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage: And out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: and is not this course pious? Chamberlain Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare Look into these affairs see this main end, The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. SUFFOLK And free us from his slavery. NORFOLK We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. SUFFOLK For me, my lords, I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud, the pope. NORFOLK Let's in; And with some other business put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My lord, you'll bear us company? Chamberlain Excuse me; The king has sent me otherwhere: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships. NORFOLK Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, ha? NORFOLK Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY VIII Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? NORFOLK A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way Is business of estate; in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING HENRY VIII Ye are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king. To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us and it. To CARDINAL WOLSEY My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING HENRY VIII [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him? SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of: I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue. NORFOLK [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK CARDINAL WOLSEY Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; Whom once more I present unto your highness. KING HENRY VIII And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves: They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING HENRY VIII Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? CARDINAL WOLSEY I know your majesty has always loved her So dear in heart, not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law: Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING HENRY VIII Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary: I find him a fit fellow. Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. GARDINER [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me. KING HENRY VIII Come hither, Gardiner. Walks and whispers CARDINAL CAMPEIUS My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, he was. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Was he not held a learned man? CARDINAL WOLSEY Yes, surely. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. CARDINAL WOLSEY How! of me? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him, That he ran mad and died. CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment: I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING HENRY VIII Deliver this with modesty to the queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, Would it not grieve an able man to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her. Exeunt SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. Enter ANNE and an Old Lady ANNE Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: His highness having lived so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old Lady Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. ANNE O, God's will! much better She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing. Old Lady Alas, poor lady! She's a stranger now again. ANNE So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old Lady Our content Is our best having. ANNE By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old Lady Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy: You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. ANNE Nay, good troth. Old Lady Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? ANNE No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? ANNE No, in truth. Old Lady Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. ANNE How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old Lady In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter Chamberlain Chamberlain Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Chamberlain It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well. ANNE Now, I pray God, amen! Chamberlain You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. ANNE I do not know What kind of my obedience I should tender; More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. Chamberlain Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The king hath of you. Aside I have perused her well; Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king: and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, And say I spoke with you. Exit Chamberlain ANNE My honour'd lord. Old Lady Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up Before you open it. ANNE This is strange to me. Old Lady How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? ANNE Come, you are pleasant. Old Lady With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! No other obligation! By my life, That promises moe thousands: honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess: say, Are you not stronger than you were? ANNE Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: pray, do not deliver What here you've heard to her. Old Lady What do you think me? Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage CARDINAL WOLSEY Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING HENRY VIII What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may, then, spare that time. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be't so. Proceed. Scribe Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier Henry King of England, & c. KING HENRY VIII Here. Scribe Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. Crier Katharine Queen of England, & c. QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable; Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry As I saw it inclined: when was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: if, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many A year before: it is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! CARDINAL WOLSEY You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS His grace Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produced and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE Lord cardinal, To you I speak. CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. CARDINAL WOLSEY Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induced by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me; Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. CARDINAL WOLSEY I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you or any: how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You're meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual: that again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judged by him. She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart CARDINAL CAMPEIUS The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well. She's going away. KING HENRY VIII Call her again. Crier Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GRIFFITH Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants KING HENRY VIII Go thy ways, Kate: That man i' the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. CARDINAL WOLSEY Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloosed, although not there At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING HENRY VIII My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You're excused: But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it: on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't: My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business, Ere a determinate resolution, he, I mean the bishop, did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advertise Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forced such way, That many mazed considerings did throng And press'd in with this caution. First, methought I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If it conceived a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't than The grave does to the dead; for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together: that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,--which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,-- By all the reverend fathers of the land And doctors learn'd: first I began in private With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek, When I first moved you. LINCOLN Very well, my liege. KING HENRY VIII I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread, that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course Which you are running here. KING HENRY VIII I then moved you, My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons: unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on: For no dislike i' the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' the world. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. KING HENRY VIII [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. Exeunt in manner as they entered ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments. Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman QUEEN KATHARINE How now! Gentleman An't please your grace, the two great cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE Would they speak with me? Gentleman They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE Pray their graces To come near. Exit Gentleman What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS CARDINAL WOLSEY Peace to your highness! QUEEN KATHARINE Your graces find me here part of a housewife, I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? CARDINAL WOLSEY May it please you noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE Speak it here: There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner: would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not, so much I am happy Above a number, if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. CARDINAL WOLSEY Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-- QUEEN KATHARINE O, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English. CARDINAL WOLSEY Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. We come not by the way of accusation, To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, Forgetting, like a good man your late censure Both of his truth and him, which was too far, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE [Aside] To betray me.-- My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so! But how to make ye suddenly an answer, In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,-- More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking Either for such men or such business. For her sake that I have been,--for I feel The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces, Let me have time and counsel for my cause: Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE In England But little for my profit: can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here: They are, as all my other comforts, far hence In mine own country, lords. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS I would your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE How, sir? CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Put your main cause into the king's protection; He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better and your cause; For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye, You'll part away disgraced. CARDINAL WOLSEY He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries; I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye And all such false professors! would you have me-- If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas, has banish'd me his bed already, His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? loved him next heaven? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. CARDINAL WOLSEY Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. CARDINAL WOLSEY Pray, hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. CARDINAL WOLSEY If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. CARDINAL CAMPEIUS Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. QUEEN KATHARINE Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly; You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment. Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain NORFOLK If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: if you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces, With these you bear already. SURREY I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be revenged on him. SUFFOLK Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person Out of himself? Chamberlain My lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me I know; What we can do to him, though now the time Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in's tongue. NORFOLK O, fear him not; His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. SURREY Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. NORFOLK Believe it, this is true: In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy. SURREY How came His practises to light? SUFFOLK Most strangely. SURREY O, how, how? SUFFOLK The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' SURREY Has the king this? SUFFOLK Believe it. SURREY Will this work? Chamberlain The king in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death: the king already Hath married the fair lady. SURREY Would he had! SUFFOLK May you be happy in your wish, my lord For, I profess, you have it. SURREY Now, all my joy Trace the conjunction! SUFFOLK My amen to't! NORFOLK All men's! SUFFOLK There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memorised. SURREY But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! NORFOLK Marry, amen! SUFFOLK No, no; There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried Ha! at this. Chamberlain Now, God incense him, And let him cry Ha! louder! NORFOLK But, my lord, When returns Cranmer? SUFFOLK He is return'd in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager And widow to Prince Arthur. NORFOLK This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business. SUFFOLK He has; and we shall see him For it an archbishop. NORFOLK So I hear. SUFFOLK 'Tis so. The cardinal! Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL NORFOLK Observe, observe, he's moody. CARDINAL WOLSEY The packet, Cromwell. Gave't you the king? CROMWELL To his own hand, in's bedchamber. CARDINAL WOLSEY Look'd he o' the inside of the paper? CROMWELL Presently He did unseal them: and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance. You he bade Attend him here this morning. CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he ready To come abroad? CROMWELL I think, by this he is. CARDINAL WOLSEY Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL Aside It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! NORFOLK He's discontented. SUFFOLK May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. SURREY Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice! CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. NORFOLK He is vex'd at something. SURREY I would 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord on's heart! Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL SUFFOLK The king, the king! KING HENRY VIII What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together! Now, my lords, Saw you the cardinal? NORFOLK My lord, we have Stood here observing him: some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple, straight Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. KING HENRY VIII It may well be; There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I required: and wot you what I found There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing; The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. NORFOLK It's heaven's will: Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. KING HENRY VIII If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL WOLSEY Heaven forgive me! Ever God bless your highness! KING HENRY VIII Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind; the which You were now running o'er: you have scarce time To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that I deem you an ill husband, and am glad To have you therein my companion. CARDINAL WOLSEY Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business which I bear i' the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendence to. KING HENRY VIII You have said well. CARDINAL WOLSEY And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! KING HENRY VIII 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you: His said he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But pared my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. CARDINAL WOLSEY [Aside] What should this mean? SURREY [Aside] The Lord increase this business! KING HENRY VIII Have I not made you, The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us or no. What say you? CARDINAL WOLSEY My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends Have been mine so that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. The Life and Death of King John Shakespeare homepage | King John | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. KING JOHN'S palace. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France In my behavior to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty, of England here. QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!' KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island and the territories, To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Which sways usurpingly these several titles, And put these same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this? CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment: so answer France. CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The farthest limit of my embassy. KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath And sullen presage of your own decay. An honourable conduct let him have: Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said How that ambitious Constance would not cease Till she had kindled France and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? This might have been prevented and made whole With very easy arguments of love, Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us. QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right, Or else it must go wrong with you and me: So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. Enter a Sheriff ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy Come from country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? KING JOHN Let them approach. Our abbeys and our priories shall pay This expedition's charge. Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD What men are you? BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son, As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. KING JOHN What art thou? ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? You came not of one mother then, it seems. BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king; That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But for the certain knowledge of that truth I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother And wound her honour with this diffidence. BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea and none of mine; The which if he can prove, a' pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year: Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whether I be as true begot or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head, But that I am as well begot, my liege,-- Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!-- Compare our faces and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both And were our father and this son like him, O old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father. With half that face would he have all my land: A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived, Your brother did employ my father much,-- BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there with the emperor To treat of high affairs touching that time. The advantage of his absence took the king And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay, As I have heard my father speak himself, When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me, and took it on his death That this my mother's son was none of his; And if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, And if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf bred from his cow from all the world; In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes; My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force To dispossess that child which is not his? BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence and no land beside? BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!' And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Would I might never stir from off this place, I would give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob in any case. QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? I am a soldier and now bound to France. BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear. Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither. BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way. KING JOHN What is thy name? BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great, Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet. BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, yours gave land. Now blessed by the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away! QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet! I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so. BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day must walk by night, And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And I am I, howe'er I was begot. KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire; A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed For France, for France, for it is more than need. BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. Exeunt all but BASTARD A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'-- And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective and too sociable For your conversion. Now your traveller, He and his toothpick at my worship's mess, And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, Why then I suck my teeth and catechise My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 'I shall beseech you'--that is question now; And then comes answer like an Absey book: 'O sir,' says answer, 'at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir;' 'No, sir,' says question, 'I, sweet sir, at yours:' And so, ere answer knows what question would, Saving in dialogue of compliment, And talking of the Alps and Apennines, The Pyrenean and the river Po, It draws toward supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society And fits the mounting spirit like myself, For he is but a bastard to the time That doth not smack of observation; And so am I, whether I smack or no; And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement, But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? What woman-post is this? hath she no husband That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and GURNEY O me! it is my mother. How now, good lady! What brings you here to court so hastily? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chase mine honour up and down? BASTARD My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son that you seek so? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. BASTARD James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? GURNEY Good leave, good Philip. BASTARD Philip! sparrow: James, There's toys abroad: anon I'll tell thee more. Exit GURNEY Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: We know his handiwork: therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? BASTARD Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. What! I am dubb'd! I have it on my shoulder. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert and my land; Legitimation, name and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother? LADY FAULCONBRIDGE Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? BASTARD As faithfully as I deny the devil. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father: By long and vehement suit I was seduced To make room for him in my husband's bed: Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urged past my defence. BASTARD Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subjected tribute to commanding love, Against whose fury and unmatched force The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He that perforce robs lions of their hearts May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. France. Before Angiers. Enter AUSTRIA and forces, drums, etc. on one side: on the other KING PHILIP and his power; LEWIS, ARTHUR, CONSTANCE and attendants LEWIS Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: And for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf, And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. ARTHUR God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death The rather that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. LEWIS A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? AUSTRIA Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love, That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. CONSTANCE O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength To make a more requital to your love! AUSTRIA The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. KING PHILIP Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages: We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. CONSTANCE Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood: My Lord Chatillon may from England bring, That right in peace which here we urge in war, And then we shall repent each drop of blood That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter CHATILLON KING PHILIP A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arrived! What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. CHATILLON Then turn your forces from this paltry siege And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I; His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king's deceased, And all the unsettled humours of the land, Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make hazard of new fortunes here: In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er Did nearer float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath in Christendom. Drum beats The interruption of their churlish drums Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley or to fight; therefore prepare. KING PHILIP How much unlook'd for is this expedition! AUSTRIA By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them be welcome then: we are prepared. Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, Lords, and forces KING JOHN Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own; If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven. KING PHILIP Peace be to England, if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace. England we love; and for that England's sake With burden of our armour here we sweat. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king Cut off the sequence of posterity, Out-faced infant state and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right And this is Geffrey's: in the name of God How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? KING JOHN From whom hast thou this great commission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? KING PHILIP From that supernal judge, that stirs good thoughts In any breast of strong authority, To look into the blots and stains of right: That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong And by whose help I mean to chastise it. KING JOHN Alack, thou dost usurp authority. KING PHILIP Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. QUEEN ELINOR Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? CONSTANCE Let me make answer; thy usurping son. QUEEN ELINOR Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, That thou mayst be a queen, and cheque the world! CONSTANCE My bed was ever to thy son as true As thine was to thy husband; and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey Than thou and John in manners; being as like As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think His father never was so true begot: It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. QUEEN ELINOR There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. CONSTANCE There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. AUSTRIA Peace! BASTARD Hear the crier. AUSTRIA What the devil art thou? BASTARD One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a' may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. BLANCH O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! BASTARD It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides' shows upon an ass: But, ass, I'll take that burthen from your back, Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. AUSTRIA What craker is this same that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath? KING PHILIP Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. LEWIS Women and fools, break off your conference. King John, this is the very sum of all; England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? KING JOHN My life as soon: I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And out of my dear love I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: Submit thee, boy. QUEEN ELINOR Come to thy grandam, child. CONSTANCE Do, child, go to it grandam, child: Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. ARTHUR Good my mother, peace! I would that I were low laid in my grave: I am not worth this coil that's made for me. QUEEN ELINOR His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. CONSTANCE Now shame upon you, whether she does or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed To do him justice and revenge on you. QUEEN ELINOR Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! CONSTANCE Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou and thine usurp The dominations, royalties and rights Of this oppressed boy: this is thy eld'st son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. KING JOHN Bedlam, have done. CONSTANCE I have but this to say, That he is not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plague for her And with her plague; her sin his injury, Her injury the beadle to her sin, All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; a plague upon her! QUEEN ELINOR Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will that bars the title of thy son. CONSTANCE Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will: A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! KING PHILIP Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate: It ill beseems this presence to cry aim To these ill-tuned repetitions. Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpet sounds. Enter certain Citizens upon the walls First Citizen Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? KING PHILIP 'Tis France, for England. KING JOHN England, for itself. You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects-- KING PHILIP You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle-- KING JOHN For our advantage; therefore hear us first. These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, And ready mounted are they to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege All merciless proceeding by these French Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; And but for our approach those sleeping stones, That as a waist doth girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordinance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But on the sight of us your lawful king, Who painfully with much expedient march Have brought a countercheque before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threatened cheeks, Behold, the French amazed vouchsafe a parle; And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king, whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. KING PHILIP When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town, Being no further enemy to you Than the constraint of hospitable zeal In the relief of this oppressed child Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty which you truly owe To that owes it, namely this young prince: And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruised, We will bear home that lusty blood again Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives and you in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls Can hide you from our messengers of war, Though all these English and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. Then tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challenged it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage And stalk in blood to our possession? First Citizen In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. First Citizen That can we not; but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal: till that time Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. KING JOHN Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- BASTARD Bastards, and else. KING JOHN To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- BASTARD Some bastards too. KING PHILIP Stand in his face to contradict his claim. First Citizen Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! KING PHILIP Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! BASTARD Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! To AUSTRIA Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA Peace! no more. BASTARD O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD Speed then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, with trumpets, to the gates French Herald You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet English Herald Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. First Citizen Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. Re-enter KING JOHN and KING PHILIP, with their powers, severally KING JOHN France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. KING PHILIP England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. BASTARD Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! KING JOHN Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? KING PHILIP Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? First Citizen The king of England; when we know the king. KING PHILIP Know him in us, that here hold up his right. KING JOHN In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. First Citizen A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. BASTARD By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'ld play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face and bloody point to point; Then, in a moment, Fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion, To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? KING JOHN Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well. France, shall we knit our powers And lay this Angiers even to the ground; Then after fight who shall be king of it? BASTARD An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Being wronged as we are by this peevish town, Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why then defy each other and pell-mell Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. KING PHILIP Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? KING JOHN We from the west will send destruction Into this city's bosom. AUSTRIA I from the north. KING PHILIP Our thunder from the south Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. BASTARD O prudent discipline! From north to south: Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: I'll stir them to it. Come, away, away! First Citizen Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. KING JOHN Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. First Citizen That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, Is niece to England: look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete of, say he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. O, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in; And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can To our fast-closed gates; for at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance: but without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion, no, not Death himself In moral fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. BASTARD Here's a stay That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas, Talks as familiarly of roaring lions As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon fire, and smoke and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue: Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his But buffets better than a fist of France: Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. QUEEN ELINOR Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Are capable of this ambition, Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. First Citizen Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? KING PHILIP Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: what say you? KING JOHN If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea, Except this city now by us besieged, Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich In titles, honours and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. KING PHILIP What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. LEWIS I do, my lord; and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye: Which being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow: I do protest I never loved myself Till now infixed I beheld myself Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. Whispers with BLANCH BASTARD Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! And quarter'd in her heart! he doth espy Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, That hang'd and drawn and quartered, there should be In such a love so vile a lout as he. BLANCH My uncle's will in this respect is mine: If he see aught in you that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or if you will, to speak more properly, I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this; that nothing do I see in you, Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge, That I can find should merit any hate. KING JOHN What say these young ones? What say you my niece? BLANCH That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. KING JOHN Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? LEWIS Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; For I do love her most unfeignedly. KING JOHN Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. KING PHILIP It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. AUSTRIA And your lips too; for I am well assured That I did so when I was first assured. KING PHILIP Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at Saint Mary's chapel presently The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? I know she is not, for this match made up Her presence would have interrupted much: Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. LEWIS She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. KING PHILIP And, by my faith, this league that we have made Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage. KING JOHN We will heal up all; For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity: I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. Exeunt all but the BASTARD BASTARD Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith, That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, Who, having no external thing to lose But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that, That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world, The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even upon even ground, Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, This sway of motion, this Commodity, Makes it take head from all indifferency, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this Commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determined aid, From a resolved and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And why rail I on this Commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm; But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit The Life and Death of Richard the Second Shakespeare homepage | Richard II | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD II's palace. Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Exit JOHN OF GAUNT KING RICHARD II We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with DUCHESS JOHN OF GAUNT Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt SCENE III. The lists at Coventry. Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE Lord Marshal My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald KING RICHARD II Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. A charge sounded Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. A long flourish Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. Exit KING RICHARD II Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. To HENRY BOLINGBROKE Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train DUKE OF AUMERLE Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. Exeunt SCENE IV. The court. Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another KING RICHARD II We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter BUSHY Bushy, what news? BUSHY Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II Where lies he? BUSHY At Ely House. KING RICHARD II Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All Amen. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Ely House. Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c JOHN OF GAUNT Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY DUKE OF YORK The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. Exit, borne off by his Attendants KING RICHARD II And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND NORTHUMBERLAND My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit KING RICHARD II Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT NORTHUMBERLAND Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT BUSHY Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. Enter GREEN GREEN God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY Despair not, madam. QUEEN Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter DUKE OF YORK GREEN Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK What is't, knave? Servant An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Exit Servant Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. Exeunt DUKE OF YORK and QUEEN BUSHY The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. The Life and Death of Richard the Third Shakespeare homepage | Richard III | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. London. A street. Enter GLOUCESTER, solus GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER Upon what cause? CLARENCE Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER What news abroad? HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS He is. GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit HASTINGS He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER I grant ye. LADY ANNE Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE I hope so. GLOUCESTER I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE Name him. GLOUCESTER Plantagenet. LADY ANNE Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE Where is he? GLOUCESTER Here. She spitteth at him Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit SCENE III. The palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, RIVERS, and GREY RIVERS Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY GREY Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET GLOUCESTER They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET Richard! GLOUCESTER Ha! QUEEN MARGARET I call thee not. GLOUCESTER I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit HASTINGS My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER So do I ever: Aside being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Enter CATESBY CATESBY Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY BRAKENBURY Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! CLARENCE sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers First Murderer Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY reads it BRAKENBURY I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY Second Murderer What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer So I am, to let him live. First Murderer Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer A man, as you are. CLARENCE But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both To, to, to-- CLARENCE To murder me? Both Ay, ay. CLARENCE You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Ay, so we will. CLARENCE Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer What shall we do? CLARENCE Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer Take that, and that: if all this will not do, Stabs him I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body Second Murderer A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter First Murderer First Murderer How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. Exit First Murderer So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. ACT II SCENE I. London. The palace. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others KING EDWARD IV Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS And so swear I, my lord They embrace KING EDWARD IV Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, To the Queen but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter DERBY DORSET A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET GLOUCESTER This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM We wait upon your grace. Exeunt SCENE II. The palace. Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE Boy Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK No, boy. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK Ay, boy. Boy I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF GLOUCESTER Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER [Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS And so say I. GLOUCESTER Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH DUCHESS OF YORK With all our harts. Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER BUCKINGHAM My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt SCENE III. London. A street. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen Third Citizen Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. The Tragedy of Coriolanus Shakespeare homepage | Coriolanus | Entire play 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 Marcius 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 particularise 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 Marcius? All 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 fort, 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 till 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' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All Come, come. First Citizen Soft! who comes here? Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA 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 the 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' the 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 store-houses 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 Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the 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 answer'd-- 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 the 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 In 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 restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the 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'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen Ye're long about it. MENENIUS Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: '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 store-house 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 the seat o' the 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' the 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' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st 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 MARCIUS Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the 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'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd 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? MARCIUS They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd 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 answer'd, 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' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS What is granted them? MARCIUS 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 unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS This is strange. MARCIUS Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger, hastily Messenger Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS Here: what's the matter? Messenger The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS First Senator Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS You have fought together. MARCIUS Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS It is your former promise. MARCIUS 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 No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS O, true-bred! First Senator Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. To MARCIUS Right worthy you priority. COMINIUS Noble Marcius! First Senator [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone! MARCIUS Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. Citizens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS He has no equal. SICINIUS When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS Be-mock 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, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius 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 his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS Lets along. Exeunt SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate-house. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain Senators 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 press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius 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 veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd 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 Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring 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 Marcius 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. A room in Marcius' house. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA 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 the 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 Marcius, 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 the 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 mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd 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, look'd 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 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 house-keepers. 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 school-master. 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: has 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 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 it, 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 husewife 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 Corioli; 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 every thing 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 Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Captains and Soldiers. To them a Messenger MARCIUS Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS 'Tis done. LARTIUS Agreed. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS How far off lie these armies? Messenger Within this mile and half. MARCIUS 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 Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Drums 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 pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS O, they are at it! LARTIUS Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces MARCIUS 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. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS cursing MARCIUS 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 abhorr'd Further 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 followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates 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. Enters the gates First Soldier Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier Nor I. MARCIUS is shut in First Soldier See, they have shut him in. All To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS LARTIUS What is become of Marcius? All Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd 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, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: 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 thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy First Soldier Look, sir. LARTIUS O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city SCENE V. Corioli. 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. Alarum continues still afar off Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! 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! 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. MARCIUS Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd 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! MARCIUS Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the 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. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger Thy news? Messenger The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS Though thou speak'st 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. COMINIUS Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS [Within] Come I too late? COMINIUS The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. Enter MARCIUS MARCIUS Come I too late? COMINIUS Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli 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 is he? call him hither. MARCIUS Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the 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. MARCIUS 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 smear'd; 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 Marcius. 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 obey'd. Please you to march; And four 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 Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with 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 the Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt SCENE VIII. A field of battle. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS MARCIUS 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. MARCIUS Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the 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 camest 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-- MARCIUS 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 vouch'd, 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. MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. 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. MARCIUS 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 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd 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 Marcius 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 Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums All Caius Marcius 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 the 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 Corioli 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 Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was with in my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS Marcius, 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 look'd to: come. 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! First Soldier 'Twill be deliver'd 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. First Soldier He's the devil. AUFIDIUS Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering 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 Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier Will not you go? AUFIDIUS I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier I shall, sir. Exeunt 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 to-night. BRUTUS Good or bad? MENENIUS Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS The lamb. MENENIUS Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Well, sir. MENENIUS In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS He's poor in no one fault, but 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' the right-hand file? do you? Both Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS 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 can't 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 you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence 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 pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA VIRGILIA Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS Has he 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 Corioli, 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, wow. MENENIUS True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA I' the shoulder and i' the 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' the body. MENENIUS One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald Herald Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! Kneels VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, 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 laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli 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 ye'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. 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, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, 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: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily 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 temperately 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 I 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' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the 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 the 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 he 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 Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: 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 the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS Have with you. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions First Officer Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one 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 had 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 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, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an 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 is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. A sennet. Enter, with actors before them, COMINIUS the consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes 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 perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. 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. To the Tribunes Masters o' the 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 offers to go away Nay, keep your place. First Senator Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS Sir, I hope My words disbench'd 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' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. 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 utter'd 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: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the 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' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd 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 enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli 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 Re-quicken'd 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 call'd 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 kick'd at, And look'd 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 call'd for. First Senator Call Coriolanus. Officer He doth appear. Re-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 apart 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 the 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 of 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 the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. Exeunt SCENE III. The same. 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' the 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 block-head, 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 behavior. 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 every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All Content, content. Exeunt Citizens 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 roar'd and ran From the 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 CORIOLANUS Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. Re-enter two of the Citizens So, here comes a brace. Re-enter a third Citizen You know the cause, air, 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 any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS Well then, I pray, your price o' the 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 the three Citizens Re-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 further. Both Citizens The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt For truth to o'er-peer. 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 suffer'd, the other will I do. Re-enter three Citizens more Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd 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 Citizens Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! Exeunt CORIOLANUS Worthy voices! Re-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 the 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 summon'd 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 the 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 methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens 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 mock'd us when he begg'd 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 show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens 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 lesson'd, 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' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the 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 touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd 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 confirm'd; 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 scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The 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' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And [Censorinus,] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] 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 the Capitol. All We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens 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 the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the 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 safe-guard 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 call'd 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' the 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 pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS Have I had children's voices? First Senator Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. 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 mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS Why, this was known before. BRUTUS Not to them all. CORIOLANUS Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS 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 paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the 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 plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd 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 tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS You speak o' the 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 here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the 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 learn'd, 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 frown 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 the other. COMINIUS Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the 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 nourish'd 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 That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson 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' the 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 barr'd, 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 the in 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 the 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' the dust. BRUTUS Manifest treason! SICINIUS This a consul? no. BRUTUS The aediles, ho! Enter an AEdile Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS Go, call the people: Exit AEdile in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS Hence, old goat! Senators, & C We'll surety him. COMINIUS Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS Help, ye citizens! Enter a rabble of Citizens (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! Citizens Down with him! down with him! Senators, & C Weapons, weapons, weapons! They all bustle about CORIOLANUS, crying 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' '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 the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS Hear me, people; peace! Citizens Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 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? Citizens True, The people are the city. BRUTUS By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens 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' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS AEdiles, seize him! Citizens Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile Peace, peace! MENENIUS [To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately 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 No, I'll die here. Drawing his sword 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. COMINIUS Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens 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; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator Get you gone. COMINIUS Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS Sham 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: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd 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, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS Nay, come away. Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others A Patrician This man has marr'd 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! Second Patrician I would they were abed! MENENIUS I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the rabble 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 nought. First Citizen He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens 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! Citizens 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 to-night. MENENIUS Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 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 dropp'd 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 the end o' the world. SICINIUS This is clean kam. BRUTUS Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd 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 unscann'd 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' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 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 market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS I'll bring him to you. To the 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. A room in CORIOLANUS'S house. Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians CORIOLANUS Let them puff 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. A 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 show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS Let them hang. A Patrician Ay, and burn too. Enter MENENIUS and 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 counsell'd: 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o' the 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 the 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 unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the 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 the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the 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 stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the 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 ask'd, 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. Here is Cominius. Enter COMINIUS COMINIUS I have been i' the market-place; 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 base tongue give 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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the 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 turn'd, Which quired 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 arm'd knees, Who bow'd 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 market-place; 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' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA Do your will. Exit 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. The same. 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 favour'd him. SICINIUS Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the 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 bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the 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' the truth o' the 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 rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS Well, here he comes. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, and COMINIUS, with Senators and Patricians MENENIUS Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd 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. Re-enter AEdile, with Citizens 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' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS Scratches with briers, 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 pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd 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 season'd 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' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd 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? Citizens To the rock, to the 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 the 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 know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque 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' the 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' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, 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 banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the 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 not 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, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians AEdile The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! Shouting, and throwing 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. Citizens 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 extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd 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 conn'd them. VIRGILIA O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS Nay! 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 lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld 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 stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening 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 fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. 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' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS 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' the 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'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS Give me thy hand: Come. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A street near the gate. Enter SICINIUS, BRUTUS, and an AEdile SICINIUS Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, 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. 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. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS VOLUMNIA O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the 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 BRUTUS Will you be gone? VIRGILIA [To SICINIUS] 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'ld 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 us 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 banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA Take my prayers with you. Exeunt Tribunes 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. MENENIUS Fie, fie, fie! Exeunt SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting 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 the 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 seem to wear one heart, Whose house, 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 birth-place 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. The same. A hall in Aufidius's house. Music within. Enter a Servingman First Servingman Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Exit Enter a second 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. Re-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. Re-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 thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servingman. The first meets him Third Servingman What fellow's this? First Servingman A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Retires 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 marvellous 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 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 dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS Under the canopy. Third Servingman Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS Ay. Third Servingman Where's that? CORIOLANUS I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest 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 pratest, and pratest; 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'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Retires AUFIDIUS Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS If, Tullus, Unmuffling Not yet thou knowest 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 hast 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 Marcius, 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 devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd 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 fear'd death, of all the men i' the 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 canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest 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 follow'd 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 Marcius, Marcius! 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'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd 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 Sigh'd 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 fort: 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 Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the 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 The 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, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. The two 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' the world. First Servingman I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. 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. Re-enter third Servingman Third Servingman O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman Second Servingman What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman Second Servingman Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 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 Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled 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' the 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' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the 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 the 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 whilst 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 conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman But when goes this forward? Third Servingman To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a 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 spritely, waking, 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 SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' 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 pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with 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. Both Tribunes Hail sir! MENENIUS Hail to you both! SICINIUS Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, 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 Citizens The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS God-den to you all, god-den 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 wish'd 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 Marcius was A worthy officer i' the 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 enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS Go see this rumourer whipp'd. 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 have 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 come 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 deliver'd. SICINIUS What more fearful? Messenger It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd 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 Marcius home again. SICINIUS The very trick on't. MENENIUS This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Enter a second Messenger Second Messenger You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, 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 dishonour'd 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 Marcius should be join'd 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 up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS He will 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 resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd 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 So incapable of help. Both 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' the 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 come 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. 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 Ye re 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 dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the 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 us go. Exeunt SCENE VII. A camp, at a small distance from Rome. Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to the 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 darken'd 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 Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 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 the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To 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, and 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 call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd 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: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for 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 punish'd. MENENIUS Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS I offer'd 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 the 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 Marcius. MENENIUS Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 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 unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like 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 gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd 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. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome. Two Sentinels on guard. Enter to them, MENENIUS First Senator Stay: whence are you? Second Senator 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 Senator From whence? MENENIUS From Rome. First Senator You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator 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 touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply 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 stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator 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 Senator 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, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS I am, as thy general is. First Senator 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 Senator Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS I mean, thy general. First Senator 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 and 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 standest not i' the 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, be gone. 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 Gives a letter And would have rent 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. Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS First Senator Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye'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 Senator A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others CORIOLANUS We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd 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 a crack'd 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 show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd 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. Ha! what shout is this? Shout within Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 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 curt'sy 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.' 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 virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Kneels Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest! 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. Kneels CORIOLANUS What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 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 the 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' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld 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 To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; 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 nought 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 thorough 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 MARCIUS A' 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. Rising 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 show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 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 dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the 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' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd 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; 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 bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 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 prevail'd, 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! 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. The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS CORIOLANUS Ay, by and by; To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, & c But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 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 corner-stone? 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 Marcius 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'ld 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 a second Messenger SICINIUS What's the news? Second Messenger Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours 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 pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! Music still, with 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? Second Messenger Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS We will meet them, And help the joy. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate. Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, & c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others First 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 banish'd Marcius, 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' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; 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 enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Exeunt Attendants Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction Most welcome! First Conspirator How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd 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 banish'd 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 seem'd 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 marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd 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 enter'd 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 The 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? 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. AUFIDIUS He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him CORIOLANUS Hail, lords! I am return'd 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 Do 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 the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS Marcius! AUFIDIUS Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd 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' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering 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 impress'd 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 dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 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 The People 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd 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' the 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! The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body 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' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd 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 CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded The Life and Death of Julies Caesar Shakespeare homepage | Julius Caeser | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all the Commoners See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR Calpurnia! CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. CAESAR Calpurnia! CALPURNIA Here, my lord. CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course. Antonius! ANTONY Caesar, my lord? CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd. CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Flourish Soothsayer Caesar! CAESAR Ha! who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face. CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Soothsayer Beware the ides of March. CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass. Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I. CASSIUS I pray you, do. BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-- Among which number, Cassius, be you one-- Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently, For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. BRUTUS The games are done and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. Re-enter CAESAR and his Train BRUTUS I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR Antonius! ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer and he looks Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA CASCA You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day, That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting. BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too. CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too. BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony. BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;--yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound? CASCA He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. BRUTUS 'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness. CASSIUS No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS And after that, he came, thus sad, away? CASCA Ay. CASSIUS Did Cicero say any thing? CASCA Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS To what effect? CASCA Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the face again: but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. CASSIUS Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? CASCA No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS Will you dine with me to-morrow? CASCA Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS Good: I will expect you. CASCA Do so. Farewell, both. Exit BRUTUS What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you. CASSIUS I will do so: till then, think of the world. Exit BRUTUS Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus: If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit SCENE III. The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO CICERO Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? CASCA Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? CASCA A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. Besides--I ha' not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 'These are their reasons; they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? CASCA He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. CICERO Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA Farewell, Cicero. Exit CICERO Enter CASSIUS CASSIUS Who's there? CASCA A Roman. CASSIUS Casca, by your voice. CASCA Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA 'Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still CASCA So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. CASCA Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Enter CINNA Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS Am I not stay'd for? tell me. CINNA Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party-- CASSIUS Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit CINNA Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Rome. BRUTUS's orchard. Enter BRUTUS BRUTUS What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS I will, my lord. Exit BRUTUS It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;-- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round. He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter BRUTUS Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS I know not, sir. BRUTUS Look in the calendar, and bring me word. LUCIUS I will, sir. Exit BRUTUS The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads 'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!' Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. 'Shall Rome, & c.' Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. Knocking within BRUTUS 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Exit LUCIUS Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter LUCIUS LUCIUS Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS Is he alone? LUCIUS No, sir, there are moe with him. BRUTUS Do you know them? LUCIUS No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour. BRUTUS Let 'em enter. Exit LUCIUS They are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS CASSIUS I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? BRUTUS I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS He is welcome hither. CASSIUS This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS He is welcome too. CASSIUS This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS Shall I entreat a word? BRUTUS and CASSIUS whisper DECIUS BRUTUS Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? CASCA No. CINNA O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,-- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA Let us not leave him out. CINNA No, by no means. METELLUS CIMBER O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS O, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. CASSIUS Then leave him out. CASCA Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS BRUTUS Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar-- BRUTUS Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company. TREBONIUS There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes BRUTUS Peace! count the clock. CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS Never fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? CINNA Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS CIMBER Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS Now, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but BRUTUS Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter PORTIA PORTIA Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart PORTIA If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Exit PORTIA Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS LUCIUS He is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? LIGARIUS Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. BRUTUS Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS Follow me, then. Exeunt SCENE II. CAESAR's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown CAESAR Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? Enter a Servant Servant My lord? CAESAR Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. Servant I will, my lord. Exit Enter CALPURNIA CALPURNIA What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. CAESAR Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he: We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible: And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house: And he shall say you are not well to-day: Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter DECIUS BRUTUS Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS BRUTUS Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. CAESAR And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA Say he is sick. CAESAR Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS BRUTUS Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR The cause is in my will: I will not come; That is enough to satisfy the senate. But for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know: Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. DECIUS BRUTUS This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS BRUTUS I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now: the senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 'Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 'Lo, Caesar is afraid'? Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS Good morrow, Caesar. CAESAR Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is 't o'clock? BRUTUS Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter ANTONY See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR Bid them prepare within: I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day: Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS Caesar, I will: Aside and so near will I be, That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. BRUTUS [Aside] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS, reading a paper ARTEMIDORUS 'Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, 'ARTEMIDORUS.' Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS. Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS PORTIA I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS To know my errand, madam. PORTIA I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? LUCIUS I hear none, madam. PORTIA Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer PORTIA Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been? Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA What is't o'clock? Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit PORTIA I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally ACT III SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others CAESAR [To the Soothsayer] The ides of March are come. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. ARTEMIDORUS Hail, Caesar! read this schedule. DECIUS BRUTUS Trebonius doth desire you to o'erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar. CAESAR What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following POPILIUS I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. CASSIUS What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS Fare you well. Advances to CAESAR BRUTUS What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him. CASSIUS Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS DECIUS BRUTUS Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS He is address'd: press near and second him. CINNA Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress? METELLUS CIMBER Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart,-- Kneeling CAESAR I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS CIMBER Is there no voice more worthy than my own To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR What, Brutus! CASSIUS Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CASSIUS I could be well moved, if I were as you: If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire and every one doth shine, But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA O Caesar,-- CAESAR Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS BRUTUS Great Caesar,-- CAESAR Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA Speak, hands for me! CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR CAESAR Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar. Dies CINNA Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!' BRUTUS People and senators, be not affrighted; Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid. CASCA Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS BRUTUS And Cassius too. BRUTUS Where's Publius? CINNA Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS CIMBER Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance-- BRUTUS Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. CASSIUS And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS Do so: and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers. Re-enter TREBONIUS CASSIUS Where is Antony? TREBONIUS Fled to his house amazed: Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS Fates, we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out, that men stand upon. CASSIUS Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!' CASSIUS Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS BRUTUS What, shall we forth? CASSIUS Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant BRUTUS Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Servant Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel: Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Servant I'll fetch him presently. Exit BRUTUS I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS I wish we may: but yet have I a mind That fears him much; and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. BRUTUS But here comes Antony. Re-enter ANTONY Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome-- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity-- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all,--alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, To see thy thy Anthony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS Mark Antony,-- ANTONY Pardon me, Caius Cassius: The enemies of Caesar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS Brutus, a word with you. Aside to BRUTUS You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY Be it so. I do desire no more. BRUTUS Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but ANTONY ANTONY O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth-- O Caesar!-- Seeing the body ANTONY Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with CAESAR's body SCENE II. The Forum. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens Citizens We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. BRUTUS Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. King Lear Shakespeare homepage | King Lear | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. KENT Is not this your son, my lord? GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. KENT I cannot conceive you. GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? EDMUND No, my lord. GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. EDMUND My services to your lordship. KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better. EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving. GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,-- Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,-- Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. REGAN Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA Nothing, my lord. KING LEAR Nothing! CORDELIA Nothing. KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA Ay, good my lord. KING LEAR So young, and so untender? CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true. KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT Good my liege,-- KING LEAR Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown KENT Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,-- KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. KING LEAR Out of my sight! KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,-- KENT Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. KENT Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil. KING LEAR Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? BURGUNDY Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY I know no answer. KING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. KING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,-- If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,--that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. KING LEAR Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. KING OF FRANCE Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love's not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. KING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. KING OF FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. KING LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA KING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. REGAN Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! KING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA GONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. REGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment. GONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let's hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN We shall further think on't. GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat. Exeunt SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Enter EDMUND, with a letter EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power! Confined to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news? EDMUND So please your lordship, none. Putting up the letter GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading? EDMUND Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking. GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see. EDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.' Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you should enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in?--When came this to you? who brought it? EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's? EDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER It is his. EDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain! Where is he? EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER Think you so? EDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster-- EDMUND Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself, to be in a due resolution. EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit EDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar-- Enter EDGAR And pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR Do you busy yourself about that? EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last? EDGAR Why, the night gone by. EDMUND Spake you with him? EDGAR Ay, two hours together. EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? EDGAR None at all. EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbearance till the spied of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR Armed, brother! EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you: I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away. EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND I do serve you in this business. Exit EDGAR A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty My practises ride easy! I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit SCENE III. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. OSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him. Horns within GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he dislike it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be used With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you. OSWALD Well, madam. GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt SCENE IV. A hall in the same. Enter KENT, disguised KENT If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants KING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant How now! what art thou? KENT A man, sir. KING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us? KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust: to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. KING LEAR What art thou? KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. KING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT Service. KING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve? KENT You. KING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. KING LEAR What's that? KENT Authority. KING LEAR What services canst thou do? KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. KING LEAR How old art thou? KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight. KING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant Enter OSWALD You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? OSWALD So please you,-- Exit KING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight How now! where's that mongrel? Knight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. KING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him. Knight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. KING LEAR He would not! Knight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter. KING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so? Knight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged. KING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't. But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Knight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. KING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant Re-enter OSWALD O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD My lady's father. KING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. KING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him OSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord. KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels KING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes OSWALD out KING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. Giving KENT money Enter Fool Fool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. Offering KENT his cap KING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou? Fool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT Why, fool? Fool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! KING LEAR Why, my boy? Fool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. KING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip. Fool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink. KING LEAR A pestilent gall to me! Fool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. KING LEAR Do. Fool Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. KENT This is nothing, fool. Fool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? KING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. KING LEAR A bitter fool! Fool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? KING LEAR No, lad; teach me. Fool That lord that counsell'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. KING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy? Fool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. KING LEAR What two crowns shall they be? Fool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. Singing Fools had ne'er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. KING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Singing Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. KING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle: here comes one o' the parings. Enter GONERIL KING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. Fool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To GONERIL Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. Pointing to KING LEAR That's a shealed peascod. GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. KING LEAR Are you our daughter? GONERIL Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, that of late transform you From what you rightly are. Fool May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee. KING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Fool Lear's shadow. KING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. Fool Which they will make an obedient father. KING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman? GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy: be then desired By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you. KING LEAR Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY KING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,-- To ALBANY O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient. KING LEAR [To GONERIL] Detested kite! thou liest. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, Striking his head And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you. KING LEAR It may be so, my lord. Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter KING LEAR KING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALBANY What's the matter, sir? KING LEAR I'll tell thee: To GONERIL Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord? ALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,-- GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit GONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights! 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! ALBANY Well, you may fear too far. GONERIL Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD Yes, madam. GONERIL Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit OSWALD No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness. ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GONERIL Nay, then-- ALBANY Well, well; the event. Exeunt SCENE V. Court before the same. Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool KING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit Fool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes? KING LEAR Ay, boy. Fool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. KING LEAR Ha, ha, ha! Fool Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. KING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face? KING LEAR No. Fool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. KING LEAR I did her wrong-- Fool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? KING LEAR No. Fool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. KING LEAR Why? Fool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. KING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? Fool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. KING LEAR Because they are not eight? Fool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. KING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! Fool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time. KING LEAR How's that? Fool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. KING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven Keep me in temper: I would not be mad! Enter Gentleman How now! are the horses ready? Gentleman Ready, my lord. KING LEAR Come, boy. Fool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. GLOUCESTER's castle. Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him EDMUND Save thee, Curan. CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND Not I pray you, what are they? CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND Not a word. CURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. Exit EDMUND The duke be here to-night? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work! Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say! Enter EDGAR My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night: Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR I am sure on't, not a word. EDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell. Exit EDGAR Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion. Wounds his arm Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain? EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,-- GLOUCESTER But where is he? EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could-- GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after. Exeunt some Servants By no means what? EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,-- As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce My very character,--I'ld turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.' GLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain Would he deny his letter? I never got him. Tucket within Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have the due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants CORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd! REGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father named? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord. CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, Truly, however else. GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,-- REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice: Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I least thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. Exeunt SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT Ay. OSWALD Where may we set our horses? KENT I' the mire. OSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. KENT I love thee not. OSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD What dost thou know me for? KENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. The Tragedy of Macbeth Shakespeare homepage | Macbeth | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. First Witch I come, Graymalkin! Second Witch Paddock calls. Third Witch Anon. ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Sergeant Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him--from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak: For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sergeant Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended Who comes here? Enter ROSS MALCOLM The worthy thane of Ross. LENNOX What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS God save the king! DUNCAN Whence camest thou, worthy thane? ROSS From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, With terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN Great happiness! ROSS That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS I'll see it done. DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt SCENE III. A heath near Forres. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch Killing swine. Third Witch Sister, where thou? First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:-- 'Give me,' quoth I: 'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. Second Witch I'll give thee a wind. First Witch Thou'rt kind. Third Witch And I another. First Witch I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid: Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost. Look what I have. Second Witch Show me, show me. First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within Third Witch A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! the charm's wound up. Enter MACBETH and BANQUO MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: you should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you? First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favours nor your hate. First Witch Hail! Second Witch Hail! Third Witch Hail! First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH Your children shall be kings. BANQUO You shall be king. MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter ROSS and ANGUS ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. BANQUO What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. To ROSS and ANGUS Thanks for your pains. To BANQUO Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. BANQUO New horrors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants DUNCAN Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSS, and ANGUS O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. DUNCAN Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH The rest is labour, which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit DUNCAN True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter LADY MACBETH 'They met me in the day of success: and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger What is your tidings? Messenger The king comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH Thou'rt mad to say it: Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Messenger So please you, it is true: our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!' Enter MACBETH Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. LADY MACBETH And when goes hence? MACBETH To-morrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH We will speak further. LADY MACBETH Only look up clear; To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants DUNCAN This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate. Enter LADY MACBETH DUNCAN See, see, our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH All our service In every point twice done and then done double Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. LADY MACBETH Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH MACBETH If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter LADY MACBETH How now! what news? LADY MACBETH He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber? MACBETH Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH Know you not he has? MACBETH We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep-- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH Bring forth men-children only; For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? MACBETH I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt ACT II SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him BANQUO How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE I take't, 'tis later, sir. BANQUO Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH A friend. BANQUO What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. BANQUO So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd. MACBETH Good repose the while! BANQUO Thanks, sir: the like to you! Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE MACBETH Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. Exit SCENE II. The same. Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH [Within] Who's there? what, ho! LADY MACBETH Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter MACBETH My husband! MACBETH I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH When? LADY MACBETH Now. MACBETH As I descended? LADY MACBETH Ay. MACBETH Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH Donalbain. MACBETH This is a sorry sight. Looking on his hands LADY MACBETH A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH There are two lodged together. MACBETH One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' When they did say 'God bless us!' LADY MACBETH Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast,-- LADY MACBETH What do you mean? MACBETH Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' LADY MACBETH Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal; For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas in incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. Knocking within I hear a knocking At the south entry: retire we to our chamber; A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. Knocking within Hark! more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Knocking within. Enter a Porter Porter Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat for't. Knocking within Knock, knock! Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. Knocking within Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knocking within Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Knocking within Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX MACDUFF Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Porter 'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF What three things does drink especially provoke? Porter Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. Porter That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. MACDUFF Is thy master stirring? Enter MACBETH Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH Good morrow, both. MACDUFF Is the king stirring, worthy thane? MACBETH Not yet. MACDUFF He did command me to call timely on him: I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF I know this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet 'tis one. MACBETH The labour we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit LENNOX Goes the king hence to-day? MACBETH He does: he did appoint so. LENNOX The night has been unruly: where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH 'Twas a rough night. LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter MACDUFF MACDUFF O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee! MACBETH LENNOX What's the matter. MACDUFF Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building! MACBETH What is 't you say? the life? LENNOX Mean you his majesty? MACDUFF Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings Enter LADY MACBETH LADY MACBETH What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! MACDUFF O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell. Enter BANQUO O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master 's murder'd! LADY MACBETH Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS MACBETH Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN DONALBAIN What is amiss? MACBETH You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF Your royal father 's murder'd. MALCOLM O, by whom? LENNOX Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF Wherefore did you so? MACBETH Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love kno wn? LADY MACBETH Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF Look to the lady. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO Look to the lady: LADY MACBETH is carried out And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF And so do I. ALL So all. MACBETH Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. ALL Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM This murderous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away: there's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. Exeunt SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter ROSS and an old Man Old Man Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old Man 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old Man 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. Enter MACDUFF How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF Why, see you not? ROSS Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. ROSS Will you to Scone? MACDUFF No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS Well, I will thither. MACDUFF Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS Farewell, father. Old Man God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO BANQUO Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants MACBETH Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all-thing unbecoming. MACBETH To-night we hold a solemn supper sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. MACBETH Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO Ay, my good lord. MACBETH We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far you ride? BANQUO As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH Fail not our feast. BANQUO My lord, I will not. MACBETH We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: but of that to-morrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's. MACBETH I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit BANQUO Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night: to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you! Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH Bring them before us. Exit Attendant To be thus is nothing; But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come fate into the list. And champion me to the utterance! Who's there! Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant Was it not yesterday we spoke together? First Murderer It was, so please your highness. MACBETH Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say 'Thus did Banquo.' First Murderer You made it known to us. MACBETH I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours for ever? First Murderer We are men, my liege. MACBETH Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive Particular addition. from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. Second Murderer I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. First Murderer And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my lie on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. MACBETH Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. Both Murderers True, my lord. MACBETH So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down; and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. Second Murderer We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. First Murderer Though our lives-- MACBETH Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him-- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work-- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. Both Murderers We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH I'll call upon you straight: abide within. Exeunt Murderers It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Exit SCENE II. The palace. Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant LADY MACBETH Is Banquo gone from court? Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. LADY MACBETH Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Servant Madam, I will. Exit LADY MACBETH Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH How now, my lord! why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what's done is done. MACBETH We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it: She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACBETH So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH You must leave this. MACBETH O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. LADY MACBETH But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH What's to be done? MACBETH Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; While night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still; Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO [Within] Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch Third Murderer 'Tis he. First Murderer Stand to't. BANQUO It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon BANQUO BANQUO O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. FLEANCE escapes Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Wast not the way? Third Murderer There's but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. First Murderer Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants MACBETH You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome. Lords Thanks to your majesty. MACBETH Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome. First Murderer appears at the door MACBETH See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. Approaching the door There's blood on thy face. First Murderer 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. First Murderer Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air: But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature. MACBETH Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow We'll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer LADY MACBETH My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX May't please your highness sit. The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place MACBETH Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness To grace us with your royal company. MACBETH The table's full. LENNOX Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH Where? LENNOX Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness? MACBETH Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? MACBETH Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. LADY MACBETH Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well: if much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion: Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? MACBETH Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes LADY MACBETH What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH Fie, for shame! MACBETH Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is. LADY MACBETH My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords Our duties, and the pledge. Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO MACBETH Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! LADY MACBETH Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. LADY MACBETH You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. ROSS What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX Good night; and better health Attend his majesty! LADY MACBETH A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH MACBETH It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH I hear it by the way; but I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt SCENE V. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE First Witch Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly. HECATE Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. Exit First Witch Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter LENNOX and another Lord LENNOX My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX Sent he to Macduff? Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer.' LENNOX And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter HECATE to the other three Witches HECATE O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains; And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c HECATE retires Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter MACBETH MACBETH How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? ALL A deed without a name. MACBETH I conjure you, by that which you profess, Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders' heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature's germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. Third Witch We'll answer. First Witch Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters? MACBETH Call 'em; let me see 'em. First Witch Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head MACBETH Tell me, thou unknown power,-- First Witch He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. First Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends MACBETH Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one word more,-- First Witch He will not be commanded: here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child Second Apparition Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends MACBETH Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL Listen, but speak not to't. Third Apparition Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Descends MACBETH That will never be Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL Seek to know no more. MACBETH I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following MACBETH Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more: And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry: Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights: I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE MACBETH Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter LENNOX LENNOX What's your grace's will? MACBETH Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX No, my lord. MACBETH Came they not by you? LENNOX No, indeed, my lord. MACBETH Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse: who was't came by? LENNOX 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH Fled to England! LENNOX Ay, my good lord. MACBETH Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it; from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS LADY MACDUFF What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF He had none: His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit LADY MACDUFF Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son As birds do, mother. LADY MACDUFF What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. Son Was my father a traitor, mother? LADY MACDUFF Ay, that he was. Son What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF Why, one that swears and lies. Son And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF Every one. Son Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF Why, the honest men. Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit LADY MACDUFF Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. First Murderer He's a traitor. Son Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! First Murderer What, you egg! Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! Son He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you! Dies Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF MALCOLM Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. MALCOLM What I believe I'll wail, What know believe, and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF I am not treacherous. MALCOLM But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF What should he be? MALCOLM It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Othello, the Moore of Venice Shakespeare homepage | Othello | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Venice. A street. Enter RODERIGO and IAGO RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he; as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he, 'I have already chose my officer.' And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster, He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient. RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service, Preferment goes by letter and affection, And not by old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor. RODERIGO I would not follow him then. IAGO O, sir, content you; I follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd: Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coats Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe If he can carry't thus! IAGO Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves! BRABANTIO appears above, at a window BRABANTIO What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there? RODERIGO Signior, is all your family within? IAGO Are your doors lock'd? BRABANTIO Why, wherefore ask you this? IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown; Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, now, very now, an old black ram Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits? RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? BRABANTIO Not I what are you? RODERIGO My name is Roderigo. BRABANTIO The worser welcome: I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,-- BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power To make this bitter to thee. RODERIGO Patience, good sir. BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange. RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou? IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. BRABANTIO Thou art a villain. IAGO You are--a senator. BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you, If't be your pleasure and most wise consent, As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, Transported, with no worse nor better guard But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor-- If this be known to you and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But if you know not this, my manners tell me We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes In an extravagant and wheeling stranger Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho! Give me a taper! call up all my people! This accident is not unlike my dream: Belief of it oppresses me already. Light, I say! light! Exit above IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall-- Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state, However this may gall him with some cheque, Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have none, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains. Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the raised search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. Exit Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father! How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers: Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? RODERIGO Truly, I think they are. BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act. Is there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed. BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! Some one way, some another. Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please, To get good guard and go along with me. BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains. Exeunt SCENE II. Another street. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs. OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is. IAGO Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir, Are you fast married? Be assured of this, That the magnifico is much beloved, And hath in his effect a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law, with all his might to enforce it on, Will give him cable. OTHELLO Let him do his spite: My services which I have done the signiory Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,-- Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege, and my demerits May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: for know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yond? IAGO Those are the raised father and his friends: You were best go in. OTHELLO Not I I must be found: My parts, my title and my perfect soul Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? IAGO By Janus, I think no. Enter CASSIO, and certain Officers with torches OTHELLO The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? CASSIO The duke does greet you, general, And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. OTHELLO What is the matter, think you? CASSIO Something from Cyprus as I may divine: It is a business of some heat: the galleys Have sent a dozen sequent messengers This very night at one another's heels, And many of the consuls, raised and met, Are at the duke's already: you have been hotly call'd for; When, being not at your lodging to be found, The senate hath sent about three several guests To search you out. OTHELLO 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. Exit CASSIO Ancient, what makes he here? IAGO 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack: If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. CASSIO I do not understand. IAGO He's married. CASSIO To who? Re-enter OTHELLO IAGO Marry, to--Come, captain, will you go? OTHELLO Have with you. CASSIO Here comes another troop to seek for you. IAGO It is Brabantio. General, be advised; He comes to bad intent. Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers with torches and weapons OTHELLO Holla! stand there! RODERIGO Signior, it is the Moor. BRABANTIO Down with him, thief! They draw on both sides IAGO You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. OTHELLO Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. Good signior, you shall more command with years Than with your weapons. BRABANTIO O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, So opposite to marriage that she shunned The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense That thou hast practised on her with foul charms, Abused her delicate youth with drugs or minerals That weaken motion: I'll have't disputed on; 'Tis probable and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. Lay hold upon him: if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. OTHELLO Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. Where will you that I go To answer this your charge? BRABANTIO To prison, till fit time Of law and course of direct session Call thee to answer. OTHELLO What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied, Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state To bring me to him? First Officer 'Tis true, most worthy signior; The duke's in council and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. BRABANTIO How! the duke in council! In this time of the night! Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own; For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. Exeunt SCENE III. A council-chamber. The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending DUKE OF VENICE There is no composition in these news That gives them credit. First Senator Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. DUKE OF VENICE And mine, a hundred and forty. Second Senator And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account,-- As in these cases, where the aim reports, 'Tis oft with difference--yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. Sailor [Within] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! First Officer A messenger from the galleys. Enter a Sailor DUKE OF VENICE Now, what's the business? Sailor The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; So was I bid report here to the state By Signior Angelo. DUKE OF VENICE How say you by this change? First Senator This cannot be, By no assay of reason: 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze. When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk, And let ourselves again but understand, That as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace, But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought of this, We must not think the Turk is so unskilful To leave that latest which concerns him first, Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake and wage a danger profitless. DUKE OF VENICE Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. First Officer Here is more news. Enter a Messenger Messenger The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course towards the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. First Senator Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? Messenger Of thirty sail: and now they do restem Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. DUKE OF VENICE 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? First Senator He's now in Florence. DUKE OF VENICE Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. First Senator Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Officers DUKE OF VENICE Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. To BRABANTIO I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; We lack'd your counsel and your help tonight. BRABANTIO So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place nor aught I heard of business Hath raised me from my bed, nor doth the general care Take hold on me, for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows And it is still itself. DUKE OF VENICE Why, what's the matter? BRABANTIO My daughter! O, my daughter! DUKE OF VENICE Senator Dead? BRABANTIO Ay, to me; She is abused, stol'n from me, and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; For nature so preposterously to err, Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not. DUKE OF VENICE Whoe'er he be that in this foul proceeding Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter After your own sense, yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. BRABANTIO Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it seems, Your special mandate for the state-affairs Hath hither brought. DUKE OF VENICE Senator We are very sorry for't. DUKE OF VENICE [To OTHELLO] What, in your own part, can you say to this? BRABANTIO Nothing, but this is so. OTHELLO Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field, And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration and what mighty magic, For such proceeding I am charged withal, I won his daughter. BRABANTIO A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; and she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on! It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature, and must be driven To find out practises of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjured to this effect, He wrought upon her. DUKE OF VENICE To vouch this, is no proof, Without more wider and more overt test Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming do prefer against him. First Senator But, Othello, speak: Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? OTHELLO I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. DUKE OF VENICE Fetch Desdemona hither. OTHELLO Ancient, conduct them: you best know the place. Exeunt IAGO and Attendants And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. DUKE OF VENICE Say it, Othello. OTHELLO Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question'd me the story of my life, From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven It was my hint to speak,--such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: which I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively: I did consent, And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used: Here comes the lady; let her witness it. Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants DUKE OF VENICE I think this tale would win my daughter too. Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best: Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. BRABANTIO I pray you, hear her speak: If she confess that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man! Come hither, gentle mistress: Do you perceive in all this noble company Where most you owe obedience? DESDEMONA My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you I am bound for life and education; My life and education both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty; I am hitherto your daughter: but here's my husband, And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor my lord. BRABANTIO God be wi' you! I have done. Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs: I had rather to adopt a child than get it. Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child: For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. DUKE OF VENICE Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserved when fortune takes Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief; He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. BRABANTIO So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears, But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: But words are words; I never yet did hear That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. DUKE OF VENICE The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you; and though we have there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. OTHELLO The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnise A natural and prompt alacrity I find in hardness, and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife. Due reference of place and exhibition, With such accommodation and besort As levels with her breeding. DUKE OF VENICE If you please, Be't at her father's. BRABANTIO I'll not have it so. OTHELLO Nor I. DESDEMONA Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear; And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. DUKE OF VENICE What would You, Desdemona? DESDEMONA That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world: my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: I saw Othello's visage in his mind, And to his honour and his valiant parts Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites for which I love him are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence. Let me go with him. OTHELLO Let her have your voices. Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite, Nor to comply with heat--the young affects In me defunct--and proper satisfaction. But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defend your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant For she is with me: no, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness My speculative and officed instruments, That my disports corrupt and taint my business, Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! DUKE OF VENICE Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay or going: the affair cries haste, And speed must answer it. First Senator You must away to-night. OTHELLO With all my heart. DUKE OF VENICE At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you; With such things else of quality and respect As doth import you. OTHELLO So please your grace, my ancient; A man he is of honest and trust: To his conveyance I assign my wife, With what else needful your good grace shall think To be sent after me. DUKE OF VENICE Let it be so. Good night to every one. To BRABANTIO And, noble signior, If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. First Senator Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. BRABANTIO Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee. Exeunt DUKE OF VENICE, Senators, Officers, & c OTHELLO My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee: I prithee, let thy wife attend on her: And bring them after in the best advantage. Come, Desdemona: I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA RODERIGO Iago,-- IAGO What say'st thou, noble heart? RODERIGO What will I do, thinkest thou? IAGO Why, go to bed, and sleep. RODERIGO I will incontinently drown myself. IAGO If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! RODERIGO It is silliness to live when to live is torment; and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician. IAGO O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. RODERIGO What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. IAGO Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: but we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect or scion. RODERIGO It cannot be. IAGO It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me thy friend and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-- put money in thy purse,--nor he his to her: it was a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration:--put but money in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in their wills: fill thy purse with money:--the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice: she must have change, she must: therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. RODERIGO Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? IAGO Thou art sure of me:--go, make money:--I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered. Traverse! go, provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. RODERIGO Where shall we meet i' the morning? IAGO At my lodging. RODERIGO I'll be with thee betimes. IAGO Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? RODERIGO What say you? IAGO No more of drowning, do you hear? RODERIGO I am changed: I'll go sell all my land. Exit IAGO Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe. But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: let me see now: To get his place and to plume up my will In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:-- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear That he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth dispose To be suspected, framed to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, And will as tenderly be led by the nose As asses are. I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Sea-port in Cyprus. An open place near the quay. Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen MONTANO What from the cape can you discern at sea? First Gentleman Nothing at all: it is a highwrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. MONTANO Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land; A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? Second Gentleman A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shaked surge, with high and monstrous mane, seems to cast water on the burning bear, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: I never did like molestation view On the enchafed flood. MONTANO If that the Turkish fleet Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd: It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman Third Gentleman News, lads! our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, That their designment halts: a noble ship of Venice Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance On most part of their fleet. MONTANO How! is this true? Third Gentleman The ship is here put in, A Veronesa; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, Is come on shore: the Moor himself at sea, And is in full commission here for Cyprus. MONTANO I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. Third Gentleman But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. MONTANO Pray heavens he be; For I have served him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, Even till we make the main and the aerial blue An indistinct regard. Third Gentleman Come, let's do so: For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter CASSIO CASSIO Thanks, you the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost us him on a dangerous sea. MONTANO Is he well shipp'd? CASSIO His bark is stoutly timber'd, his pilot Of very expert and approved allowance; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. A cry within 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Enter a fourth Gentleman CASSIO What noise? Fourth Gentleman The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea Stand ranks of people, and they cry 'A sail!' CASSIO My hopes do shape him for the governor. Guns heard Second Gentlemen They do discharge their shot of courtesy: Our friends at least. CASSIO I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. Second Gentleman I shall. Exit MONTANO But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? CASSIO Most fortunately: he hath achieved a maid That paragons description and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation Does tire the ingener. Re-enter second Gentleman How now! who has put in? Second Gentleman 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. CASSIO Has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks and congregated sands-- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,-- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal natures, letting go safely by The divine Desdemona. MONTANO What is she? CASSIO She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits And bring all Cyprus comfort! Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODERIGO, and Attendants O, behold, The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! DESDEMONA I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? CASSIO He is not yet arrived: nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. DESDEMONA O, but I fear--How lost you company? CASSIO The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship--But, hark! a sail. Within 'A sail, a sail!' Guns heard Second Gentleman They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. CASSIO See for the news. Exit Gentleman Good ancient, you are welcome. To EMILIA Welcome, mistress. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her IAGO Sir, would she give you so much of her lips As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'll have enough. DESDEMONA Alas, she has no speech. IAGO In faith, too much; I find it still, when I have list to sleep: Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. EMILIA You have little cause to say so. IAGO Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitchens, Saints m your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives' in your beds. DESDEMONA O, fie upon thee, slanderer! IAGO Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk: You rise to play and go to bed to work. EMILIA You shall not write my praise. IAGO No, let me not. DESDEMONA What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? IAGO O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical. DESDEMONA Come on assay. There's one gone to the harbour? IAGO Ay, madam. DESDEMONA I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. Come, how wouldst thou praise me? IAGO I am about it; but indeed my invention Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize; It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, And thus she is deliver'd. If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. DESDEMONA Well praised! How if she be black and witty? IAGO If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. DESDEMONA Worse and worse. EMILIA How if fair and foolish? IAGO She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. DESDEMONA These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? IAGO There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. DESDEMONA O heavy ignorance! thou praisest the worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? IAGO She that was ever fair and never proud, Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, Never lack'd gold and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish and yet said 'Now I may,' She that being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly, She that in wisdom never was so frail To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following and not look behind, She was a wight, if ever such wight were,-- DESDEMONA To do what? IAGO To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. DESDEMONA O most lame and impotent conclusion! Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and liberal counsellor? CASSIO He speaks home, madam: You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar. IAGO [Aside] He takes her by the palm: ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! Trumpet within The Moor! I know his trumpet. CASSIO 'Tis truly so. DESDEMONA Let's meet him and receive him. CASSIO Lo, where he comes! Enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO O my fair warrior! DESDEMONA My dear Othello! OTHELLO It gives me wonder great as my content To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas Olympus-high and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. DESDEMONA The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! OTHELLO Amen to that, sweet powers! I cannot speak enough of this content; It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be Kissing her That e'er our hearts shall make! IAGO [Aside] O, you are well tuned now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTHELLO Come, let us to the castle. News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How does my old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. I prithee, good Iago, Go to the bay and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. Come, Desdemona, Once more, well met at Cyprus. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants IAGO Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-- as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them--list me. The lieutenant tonight watches on the court of guard:--first, I must tell thee this--Desdemona is directly in love with him. RODERIGO With him! why, 'tis not possible. IAGO Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies: and will she love him still for prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted,--as it is a most pregnant and unforced position--who stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affection? why, none; why, none: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself; a devilish knave. Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after: a pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. RODERIGO I cannot believe that in her; she's full of most blessed condition. IAGO Blessed fig's-end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? RODERIGO Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. IAGO Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion, Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll not be far from you: do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably minister. RODERIGO Well. IAGO Sir, he is rash and very sudden in choler, and haply may strike at you: provoke him, that he may; for even out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. RODERIGO I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. IAGO I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. RODERIGO Adieu. Exit IAGO That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit: The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin, But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife, Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb-- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too-- Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me. For making him egregiously an ass And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used. Exit SCENE II. A street. Enter a Herald with a proclamation; People following Herald It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addiction leads him: for, besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello! Exeunt SCENE III. A hall in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and Attendants OTHELLO Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to outsport discretion. CASSIO Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. OTHELLO Iago is most honest. Michael, good night: to-morrow with your earliest Let me have speech with you. To DESDEMONA Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; That profit's yet to come 'tween me and you. Good night. Exeunt OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, and Attendants Enter IAGO CASSIO Welcome, Iago; we must to the watch. IAGO Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and she is sport for Jove. CASSIO She's a most exquisite lady. IAGO And, I'll warrant her, fun of game. CASSIO Indeed, she's a most fresh and delicate creature. IAGO What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. CASSIO An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. IAGO And when she speaks, is it not an alarum to love? CASSIO She is indeed perfection. IAGO Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain have a measure to the health of black Othello. CASSIO Not to-night, good Iago: I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. IAGO O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll drink for you. CASSIO I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. IAGO What, man! 'tis a night of revels: the gallants desire it. CASSIO Where are they? IAGO Here at the door; I pray you, call them in. CASSIO I'll do't; but it dislikes me. Exit IAGO If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool Roderigo, Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side out, To Desdemona hath to-night caroused Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle, Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of drunkards, Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle.--But here they come: If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter CASSIO; with him MONTANO and Gentlemen; servants following with wine CASSIO 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. MONTANO Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. IAGO Some wine, ho! Sings And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys! CASSIO 'Fore God, an excellent song. IAGO I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander--Drink, ho!--are nothing to your English. CASSIO Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? IAGO Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. CASSIO To the health of our general! MONTANO I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. IAGO O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! CASSIO Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. IAGO Will you hear't again? CASSIO No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. IAGO It's true, good lieutenant. CASSIO For mine own part,--no offence to the general, nor any man of quality,--I hope to be saved. IAGO And so do I too, lieutenant. CASSIO Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.--Forgive us our sins!--Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen. I am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my right hand, and this is my left: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All Excellent well. CASSIO Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk. Exit MONTANO To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. IAGO You see this fellow that is gone before; He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar And give direction: and do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear the trust Othello puts him in. On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. MONTANO But is he often thus? IAGO 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. MONTANO It were well The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils: is not this true? Enter RODERIGO IAGO [Aside to him] How now, Roderigo! I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. Exit RODERIGO MONTANO And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action to say So to the Moor. IAGO Not I, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil--But, hark! what noise? Cry within: 'Help! help!' Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO CASSIO You rogue! you rascal! MONTANO What's the matter, lieutenant? CASSIO A knave teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. RODERIGO Beat me! CASSIO Dost thou prate, rogue? Striking RODERIGO MONTANO Nay, good lieutenant; Staying him I pray you, sir, hold your hand. CASSIO Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. MONTANO Come, come, you're drunk. CASSIO Drunk! They fight IAGO [Aside to RODERIGO] Away, I say; go out, and cry a mutiny. Exit RODERIGO Nay, good lieutenant,--alas, gentlemen;-- Help, ho!--Lieutenant,--sir,--Montano,--sir; Help, masters!--Here's a goodly watch indeed! Bell rings Who's that which rings the bell?--Diablo, ho! The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant, hold! You will be shamed for ever. Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants OTHELLO What is the matter here? MONTANO 'Zounds, I bleed still; I am hurt to the death. Faints OTHELLO Hold, for your lives! IAGO Hold, ho! Lieutenant,--sir--Montano,--gentlemen,-- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! OTHELLO Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. Silence that dreadful bell: it frights the isle From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. IAGO I do not know: friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed; and then, but now-- As if some planet had unwitted men-- Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And would in action glorious I had lost Those legs that brought me to a part of it! OTHELLO How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? CASSIO I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. OTHELLO Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure: what's the matter, That you unlace your reputation thus And spend your rich opinion for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. MONTANO Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: Your officer, Iago, can inform you,-- While I spare speech, which something now offends me,-- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, And to defend ourselves it be a sin When violence assails us. OTHELLO Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way: if I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on; And he that is approved in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous. Iago, who began't? MONTANO If partially affined, or leagued in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. IAGO Touch me not so near: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow crying out for help: And Cassio following him with determined sword, To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest by his clamour--as it so fell out-- The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which till to-night I ne'er might say before. When I came back-- For this was brief--I found them close together, At blow and thrust; even as again they were When you yourself did part them. More of this matter cannot I report: But men are men; the best sometimes forget: Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, As men in rage strike those that wish them best, Yet surely Cassio, I believe, received From him that fled some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. OTHELLO I know, Iago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee But never more be officer of mine. Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended Look, if my gentle love be not raised up! I'll make thee an example. DESDEMONA What's the matter? OTHELLO All's well now, sweeting; come away to bed. Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. To MONTANO, who is led off Iago, look with care about the town, And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. Come, Desdemona: 'tis the soldiers' life To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife. Exeunt all but IAGO and CASSIO IAGO What, are you hurt, lieutenant? CASSIO Ay, past all surgery. IAGO Marry, heaven forbid! CASSIO Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! IAGO As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: you have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. CASSIO I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! IAGO What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? CASSIO I know not. IAGO Is't possible? CASSIO I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! IAGO Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? CASSIO It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath; one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. IAGO Come, you are too severe a moraler: as the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. CASSIO I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil. IAGO Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used: exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love you. CASSIO I have well approved it, sir. I drunk! IAGO You or any man living may be drunk! at a time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general: may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces: confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested: this broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. CASSIO You advise me well. IAGO I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. CASSIO I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes if they cheque me here. IAGO You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant; I must to the watch. CASSIO: Good night, honest Iago. Exit IAGO And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, Probal to thinking and indeed the course To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor--were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will the blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: for whiles this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, That she repeals him for her body's lust; And by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all. Re-enter RODERIGO How now, Roderigo! RODERIGO I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a little more wit, return again to Venice. IAGO How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee. And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: Nay, get thee gone. Exit RODERIGO Two things are to be done: My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife: ay, that's the way Dull not device by coldness and delay. Exit ACT III SCENE I. Before the castle. Enter CASSIO and some Musicians CASSIO Masters, play here; I will content your pains; Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.' Music Enter Clown Clown Why masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? First Musician How, sir, how! Clown Are these, I pray you, wind-instruments? First Musician Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clown O, thereby hangs a tail. First Musician Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clown Marry. sir, by many a wind-instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more noise with it. First Musician Well, sir, we will not. Clown If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say to hear music the general does not greatly care. First Musician We have none such, sir. Clown Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: go; vanish into air; away! Exeunt Musicians CASSIO Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clown No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. CASSIO Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: wilt thou do this? Clown She is stirring, sir: if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. CASSIO Do, good my friend. Exit Clown Enter IAGO In happy time, Iago. IAGO You have not been a-bed, then? CASSIO Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: my suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. IAGO I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. CASSIO I humbly thank you for't. Exit IAGO I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter EMILIA EMILIA Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. The general and his wife are talking of it; And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies, That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again. CASSIO Yet, I beseech you, If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. EMILIA Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. CASSIO I am much bound to you. Exeunt SCENE II. A room in the castle. Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen OTHELLO These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; And by him do my duties to the senate: That done, I will be walking on the works; Repair there to me. IAGO Well, my good lord, I'll do't. OTHELLO This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see't? Gentleman We'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt SCENE III. The garden of the castle. Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA DESDEMONA Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. EMILIA Good madam, do: I warrant it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. DESDEMONA O, that's an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. CASSIO Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. DESDEMONA I know't; I thank you. You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assured He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a polite distance. CASSIO Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. DESDEMONA Do not doubt that; before Emilia here I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die Than give thy cause away. EMILIA Madam, here comes my lord. CASSIO Madam, I'll take my leave. DESDEMONA Why, stay, and hear me speak. CASSIO Madam, not now: I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. DESDEMONA Well, do your discretion. Exit CASSIO Enter OTHELLO and IAGO IAGO Ha! I like not that. OTHELLO What dost thou say? IAGO Nothing, my lord: or if--I know not what. OTHELLO Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO Cassio, my lord! No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO I do believe 'twas he. DESDEMONA How now, my lord! I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO Who is't you mean? DESDEMONA Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face: I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO Went he hence now? DESDEMONA Ay, sooth; so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me, To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. DESDEMONA But shall't be shortly? OTHELLO The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA Shall't be to-night at supper? OTHELLO No, not to-night. DESDEMONA To-morrow dinner, then? OTHELLO I shall not dine at home; I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA Why, then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn: I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason-- Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best--is not almost a fault To incur a private cheque. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,-- OTHELLO Prithee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person: nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO I will deny thee nothing: Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA Shall I deny you? no: farewell, my lord. OTHELLO Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA OTHELLO Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO My noble lord-- OTHELLO What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask? IAGO But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. OTHELLO Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO O, yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO Indeed! OTHELLO Indeed! ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO Honest, my lord! OTHELLO Honest! ay, honest. IAGO My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO What dost thou think? IAGO Think, my lord! OTHELLO Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something: I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO I think thou dost; And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just They are close delations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO I think so too. IAGO Men should be what they seem; Or those that be not, would they might seem none! OTHELLO Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest man. OTHELLO Nay, yet there's more in this: I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO Good my lord, pardon me: Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false; As where's that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in session sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd and makest his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO I do beseech you-- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not--that your wisdom yet, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO What dost thou mean? IAGO Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. IAGO You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. OTHELLO Ha! IAGO O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on; that cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! OTHELLO O misery! IAGO Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO Why, why is this? Think'st thou I'ld make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved: exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago; I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this,-- Away at once with love or jealousy! IAGO I am glad of it; for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure: I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave't undone, but keep't unknown. Timon of Athens Shakespeare homepage | Timon of Athens | Entire play ACT I SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors Poet Good day, sir. Painter I am glad you're well. Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Painter It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant. Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord. Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd. Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jeweller: I have a jewel here-- Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that-- Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Merchant 'Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Painter 'Tis a good piece. Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Painter Indifferent. Poet Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over Painter How this lord is follow'd! Poet The senators of Athens: happy man! Painter Look, more! Poet You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: my free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind. Painter How shall I understand you? Poet I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Painter I saw them speak together. Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Painter 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Painter Ay, marry, what of these? Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you? Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Periods his comfort. TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help: Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Messenger Your lordship ever binds him. TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Messenger All happiness to your honour! Exit Enter an old Athenian Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak. TIMON Freely, good father. Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. TIMON I have so: what of him? Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service. Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. TIMON Well; what further? Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. TIMON The man is honest. Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. TIMON Does she love him? Old Athenian She is young and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. TIMON How shall she be endow'd, if she be mated with an equal husband? Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Athenian Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may The state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. TIMON Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; or since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work; And you shall find I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Painter The gods preserve ye! TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise? TIMON A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. TIMON Well mock'd. Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid? Enter APEMANTUS Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship. Merchant He'll spare none. TIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! APEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. TIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS Are they not Athenians? TIMON Yes. APEMANTUS Then I repent not. Jeweller: You know me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. TIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON Whither art going? APEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. TIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for. APEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. TIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? APEMANTUS The best, for the innocence. TIMON Wrought he not well that painted it? APEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Painter You're a dog. APEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? APEMANTUS No; I eat not lords. TIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. APEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON That's a lascivious apprehension. APEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. TIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. TIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth? APEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Poet How now, philosopher! APEMANTUS Thou liest. Poet Art not one? APEMANTUS Yes. Poet Then I lie not. APEMANTUS Art not a poet? Poet Yes. APEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet That's not feigned; he is so. APEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! TIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus? APEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. TIMON What, thyself? APEMANTUS Ay. TIMON Wherefore? APEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? Merchant Ay, Apemantus. APEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Merchant If traffic do it, the gods do it. APEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger TIMON What trumpet's that? Messenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship. TIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I have thank'd you: when dinner's done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest Most welcome, sir! APEMANTUS So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey. ALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight. TIMON Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except APEMANTUS Enter two Lords First Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Time to be honest. First Lord That time serves still. APEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it. Second Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast? APEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. Second Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well. APEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. Second Lord Why, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. First Lord Hang thyself! APEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. Second Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence! APEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass. Exit First Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. Second Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. First Lord The noblest mind he carries That ever govern'd man. Second Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in? First Lord I'll keep you company. Exeunt SCENE II. A banqueting-room in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS. Then comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself VENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age, And call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty. TIMON O, by no means, Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: I gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair. VENTIDIUS A noble spirit! TIMON Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON Ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me. They sit First Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it. APEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not? TIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome. APEMANTUS No; You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. TIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there Does not become a man: 'tis much to blame. They say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for't, indeed. APEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. TIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee silent. APEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Great men should drink with harness on their throats. TIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. Second Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord. APEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: This and my food are equals; there's no odds: Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. Apemantus' grace. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping: Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't: Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord. TIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. ALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast. APEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em! First Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. TIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we can our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. APEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Second Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes And at that instant like a babe sprung up. APEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Third Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much. APEMANTUS Much! Tucket, within TIMON What means that trump? Enter a Servant How now? Servant Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. TIMON Ladies! what are their wills? Servant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. TIMON I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear, Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. TIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid First Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved. Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing APEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life. As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friends' gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of TIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease TIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind; You have added worth unto 't and lustre, And entertain'd me with mine own device; I am to thank you for 't. First Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. APEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. TIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies Most thankfully, my lord. Exeunt Cupid and Ladies TIMON Flavius. FLAVIUS My lord? TIMON The little casket bring me hither. FLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour; Aside Else I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should, When all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit First Lord Where be our men? Servant Here, my lord, in readiness. Second Lord Our horses! Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket TIMON O my friends, I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, Kind my lord. First Lord I am so far already in your gifts,-- All So are we all. Enter a Servant Servant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. TIMON They are fairly welcome. FLAVIUS I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. TIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee: I prithee, let's be provided to show them entertainment. FLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how. Enter a Second Servant Second Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. TIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertain'd. Enter a third Servant How now! what news? Third Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. TIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward. FLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer: Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good: His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word: he is so kind that he now Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. Second Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it. Third Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty! TIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it. Second Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. TIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call to you. All Lords O, none so welcome. TIMON I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. ALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord. First Lord We are so virtuously bound-- TIMON And so Am I to you. Second Lord So infinitely endear'd-- TIMON All to you. Lights, more lights! First Lord The best of happiness, Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! TIMON Ready for his friends. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS What a coil's here! Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. TIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee. APEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and vain-glories? TIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Exit APEMANTUS So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then: I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit ACT II SCENE I. A Senator's house. Enter Senator, with papers in his hand Senator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say! Enter CAPHIS CAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure? Senator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon; Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when-- 'Commend me to your master'--and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus: but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger; Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. CAPHIS I go, sir. Senator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in contempt. CAPHIS I will, sir. Senator Go. Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand FLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue: never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro CAPHIS Good even, Varro: what, You come for money? Varro's Servant Is't not your business too? CAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore? Isidore's Servant It is so. CAPHIS Would we were all discharged! Varro's Servant I fear it. CAPHIS Here comes the lord. Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, & c TIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will? CAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues. TIMON Dues! Whence are you? CAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord. TIMON Go to my steward. CAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awaked by great occasion To call upon his own, and humbly prays you That with your other noble parts you'll suit In giving him his right. TIMON Mine honest friend, I prithee, but repair to me next morning. CAPHIS Nay, good my lord,-- TIMON Contain thyself, good friend. Varro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,-- Isidore's Servant From Isidore; He humbly prays your speedy payment. CAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants-- Varro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past. Isidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. TIMON Give me breath. I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I'll wait upon you instantly. Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords To FLAVIUS Come hither: pray you, How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamourous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? FLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease till after dinner, That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. TIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd. Exit FLAVIUS Pray, draw near. Exit Enter APEMANTUS and Fool CAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus: let's ha' some sport with 'em. Varro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog! Varro's Servant How dost, fool? APEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Varro's Servant I speak not to thee. APEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself. To the Fool Come away. Isidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already. APEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet. CAPHIS Where's the fool now? APEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! All Servants What are we, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Asses. All Servants Why? APEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. Fool How do you, gentlemen? All Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress? Fool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! APEMANTUS Good! gramercy. Enter Page Fool Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus? APEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters: I know not which is which. APEMANTUS Canst not read? Page No. APEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. Page Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. Exit APEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. Fool Will you leave me there? APEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? All Servants Ay; would they served us! APEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool Are you three usurers' men? All Servants Ay, fool. Fool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this? Varro's Servant I could render one. APEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Varro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Varro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. APEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus. All Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS APEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come. Fool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool FLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt Servants TIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? FLAVIUS You would not hear me, At many leisures I proposed. TIMON Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took. When my indispos ition put you back: And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, too late--yet now's a time-- The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? TIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON You tell me true. FLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON Prithee, no more. FLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. TIMON Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants Servants My lord? my lord? TIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour to-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their loves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord. FLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! TIMON Go you, sir, to the senators-- Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS I have been bold-- For that I knew it the most general way-- To them to use your signet and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON Is't true? can't be? FLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,-- But yet they could have wish'd--they know not-- Something hath been amiss--a noble nature May catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;-- And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence. TIMON You gods, reward them! Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. To a Servant Go to Ventidius. To FLAVIUS Prithee, be not sad, Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. No blame belongs to thee. To Servant Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends, I clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents. Exit Servant To FLAVIUS That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. FLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt ACT III SCENE I. A room in Lucullus' house. FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him Servant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS I thank you, sir. Enter LUCULLUS Servant Here's my lord. LUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. Exit Servants And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? FLAMINIUS His health is well sir. LUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? FLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein. LUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' dined with him, and told him on't, and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. Re-enter Servant, with wine Servant Please your lordship, here is the wine. LUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure. LUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee. To Servant Get you gone, sirrah. Exit Servant Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ, And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee! Throwing the money back LUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. Exit FLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let moulten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel master's passion! this slave, Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him: Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! And, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit SCENE II. A public place. Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers LUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. First Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. LUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money. Second Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. LUCILIUS How! Second Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord. LUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man! there was very little honour showed in't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS SERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,-- To LUCIUS LUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: commend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent-- LUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? SERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. LUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty five hundred talents. SERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. LUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? SERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir. LUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do,--the more beast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? SERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall. LUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. Exit SERVILIUS True as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit First Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius? Second Stranger Ay, too well. First Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse, Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Has paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet--O, see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!-- He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. Third Stranger Religion groans at it. First Stranger For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Sempronius' house. Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's SEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove all others? He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: all these Owe their estates unto him. Servant My lord, They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for They have au denied him. SEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? hum! It shows but little love or judgment in him: Must I be his last refuge! His friends, like physicians, Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me? Has much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for't, But his occasion might have woo'd me first; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite its last? No: So it may prove an argument of laughter To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. I'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum, Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit Servant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit SCENE IV. The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other Servants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out Varro's First Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS The like to you kind Varro. HORTENSIUS Lucius! What, do we meet together? Lucilius' Servant Ay, and I think One business does command us all; for mine Is money. TITUS So is theirs and ours. Enter PHILOTUS Lucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too! PHILOTUS Good day at once. Lucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? PHILOTUS Labouring for nine. Lucilius' Servant So much? PHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet? Lucilius' Servant Not yet. PHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; That is one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. PHILOTUS I am of your fear for that. TITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. HORTENSIUS Most true, he does. TITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. HORTENSIUS It is against my heart. Lucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. HORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. Varro's First Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Lucilius' Servant Five thousand mine. Varro's First Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIUS. TITUS One of Lord Timon's men. Lucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth? FLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not. TITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. FLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. Exit Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled Lucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. TITUS Do you hear, sir? Varro's Second Servant By your leave, sir,-- FLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend? TITUS We wait for certain money here, sir. FLAVIUS Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills, When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Then they could smile and fawn upon his debts And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Let me pass quietly: Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Lucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve. FLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. Exit Varro's First Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter? Varro's Second Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter SERVILIUS TITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him; he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Lucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. SERVILIUS Good gods! TITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir. FLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following TIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Lucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus. TITUS My lord, here is my bill. Lucilius' Servant Here's mine. HORTENSIUS And mine, my lord. Both Varro's Servants And ours, my lord. PHILOTUS All our bills. TIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle. Lucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,- TIMON Cut my heart in sums. TITUS Mine, fifty talents. TIMON Tell out my blood. Lucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord. TIMON Five thousand drops pays that. What yours?--and yours? Varro's First Servant My lord,-- Varro's Second Servant My lord,-- TIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit HORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS TIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors? devils! FLAVIUS My dear lord,-- TIMON What if it should be so? FLAVIUS My lord,-- TIMON I'll have it so. My steward! FLAVIUS Here, my lord. TIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: All, sirrah, all: I'll once more feast the rascals. FLAVIUS O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. TIMON Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt SCENE V. The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting. First Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. Second Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants ALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! First Senator Now, captain? ALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument. First Senator You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! ALCIBIADES My lord,-- First Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear. ALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose THE END